


Soul Proprietorship

by fabricdragon



Series: Odyssey [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Sherlock, BDSM, Canon-Typical Violence, Conditioning, Dubious Consent, Eating Disorders, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Flogging, Harry Potter References, Knifeplay, M/M, Military Backstory, Mind Manipulation, Mind Palace, Moriarty is more than a bit not good, Multi, Mycroft is a Bit Not Good, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Drug Addiction, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychology, References to Supernatural (TV), Sadism, Shibari, Threats, Weight Issues, Work Contains Fan(s) or Fandom(s), addition warnings in chapter summaries, but is very good at it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-11-23 03:39:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11394591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: picking up immediately after  "Some Assembly Required"Mycroft Holmes tried to rebel against Jim Moriarty, only to find his emotional and psychological weaknesses used against him.  Jim  has said he will be returned to the British government offices  by Monday.  Jim, meanwhile has been acquiring "minor government functionaries" like collectable trading cards.Now everyone is stuck  for the weekend and will get to know each other  a lot better, like it or not, before Sherlock is taken *somewhere*  on Tuesday.Jim meanwhile is finding out that dealing with all of them (plus his usual business) at once is a bit not good...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mickie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickie/gifts).



Lloyd helped Sherlock get dressed– Sherlock’s hands were shaking as if he was coming down from a drug hit– and took him up to the rooms that Anthea and John were in.  Anthea was apparently in the room next to the one she’d been in after the crash– it felt like a million years ago already– and John in an adjoining room next door.

“Anthea is with Sebastian,” Lloyd said, shuddering slightly.

 _He knew that, he was certain they were having sex, and he was the computer security expert…“_ The rooms are bugged?”

“Yes,” Lloyd nodded, “Julie, Jim, or I can access it.”

Sherlock blinked, “Who’s Julie?”

“She was Jim’s head of computers,” he smiled shyly, “now I am– she works for me.”

“That’s a quick promotion.” Sherlock looked at him thoughtfully; having seen him so open, he was easier to read. “You… didn’t work with Jim before?”

“No,” he shook his head, “I never saw him until I woke up here after he rescued me.”

“From Bennison?”

Lloyd nodded, said, “I have to go,” and left quickly– clearly not wanting to talk about it.

Sherlock braced himself and opened the door.  John had been watching television and leapt up and spun when the door opened, clearly startled.

“Sherlock?” he relaxed slightly and then tensed, “What happened, what’s wrong?” Sherlock let him hug him and pat him over. “You got redressed? Why were you undressed?” John asked with a worried frown as he helped Sherlock fix his shirt.

“Apparently clothes are part of the power dynamic in human society…” Sherlock sighed

“Obviously.” John frowned. “So he stripped you to put you down?” John got a very hard look on his face.

“No. Jim was nude, and so was Lloyd, so he didn’t want me having clothes.”

“What?”

“Can… Can we talk about this later? I think I need to talk to Sebastian.”

John just stared at him, “You what?”

*

Sebastian had had one good general go round with Anthea– and had the bloody back to show for it– that was punctuated by John apparently running in, staring, and running out, before they both calmed down enough to talk.

“So… look, I hate to ask…”

“What?”

“I got kind of worked up flogging Mycroft, but Jim’s busy and…” She raised an eyebrow at him in a fashion that he was pretty sure got most people in line.

“And that means what?”

Sebastian sighed, “I need to either get tied down and worked over– and I CAN’T let you really do that, I’m on call– or I need to work out some more of my aggression.”

“How MUCH aggression?”

 He gave her a grateful look for being so understanding, “I’m not in bad shape… if- If you struggled and I had to force you, it would be enough I think.”

“It’s not my thing, but–” she shrugged, “I could do that… can you back off before you hurt me?”

“Yes.” He nodded firmly, “it hasn’t been that long–I’m not out of control or anything.”

She looked at him flatly, “You blow past ‘red’ and I will hurt you.”

“I won’t: Jim started me on the color safewords; they’re pretty hard-wired by now.”

“Alright.” She brought her hand back and slapped him. Sebastian just grinned and took her down on the bed.  He didn’t think she was acting when she realized just how much he’d been holding his strength in check– her eyes widened and she made the most wonderful gasping noises…

He knew from before that she could take a good bit of pounding– liked it in fact– so other than being careful not to break her wrists, or choke her, he didn’t hold back.   He was pretty sure, judging from the noises she made, and the expressions on her face, that she was furious with herself for getting off on it even a little. Sebastian stretched his claws out a bit and worked harder.  It took a while, but eventually he had her writhing and making little noises, pinned down and having orgasms wrung out of her despite herself.

He let her up carefully and tried to be busy straightening up when she went to the bathroom to get her dignity back. That had been wonderful.  He didn’t expect he’d get too many chances like that again, but bringing someone like Anthea down was so much more satisfying than the usual: he could definitely see Jim’s point of view. Still, he wanted to make it clear he appreciated it…

When she came back out she  looked a bit distant.

“Want to join me?” he said hopefully, trying to look harmless– or at least tame– and waving at the television.

“Where did THAT come from?” she stared around the room.

“It was behind the dresser.”

“Fuck.” She grumbled, “I should have noticed.”

“We WERE busy…”

“So what did you have in mind?” she asked dubiously.  She looked wary and was staying a bit out of grab range, too, damn it.

“Supernatural marathon.”

She brightened up a bit, “Oh, that’s different.”

“I- I won’t need to cut loose again for a while, and there are other people…” he tried to make room on the bed for her and held his hands in his lap.

She snorted, “Fine, shove over.”

He grinned.  Eventually she relaxed enough to smack him when he made a rude comment about Crowley.

…

Sebastian didn’t notice the soft tap on the connecting door at first.  Anthea looked over… he paused the show… there was another tap.

Anthea opened the door and immediately went through to John’s room.

“Sherlock? Are you alright? What’s going on? Have you seen–”

_Sherlock was back? Oh… I guess they wanted to talk to Anthea._

Then he heard the last thing he ever expected to hear from Sherlock: “I need to talk to Sebastian.”

~

“I rather expected you would prefer to avoid me.” Sebastian said dubiously from the other room.

“I would, usually, but I need to understand some things and you are the only person I can ask.”

Anthea shrugged, “We were watching Supernatural, but…” she glanced back into the room, “I think talking in the bedroom might be a bad idea.”

Sebastian moved to a clear view of the doorway and looked around, “We could go to one of the offices, or just talk in John’s room?”

Sherlock sighed, “Lloyd said the rooms are bugged but only he, someone named Julie, or Jim can access the recordings.”

Sebastian shrugged, “Probably; most of the rooms have a camera for security.”

“Even yours?” Anthea asked.

“Especially mine.” Sebastian answered in a puzzled fashion. “Heck, JIM’s room has a full range of cameras, but I think he’s the only one with access– dunno, he gave Lloyd a lot.”

“Then John’s room is as likely as anyplace.”

Sebastian came in keeping Anthea between Sherlock and himself. He ended up leaning on the doorway; Sherlock went over and stared at the window curtains.

“I need to know how you met Jim.”

“That’s a good question,” Anthea turned with a slight smile that faded when she saw Sebastian’s expression.

“You don’t want to.”

“Perhaps not, but I think I need to.”

John was looking back and forth in increasing confusion, especially at the unhappy look on Sebastian’s face.

“It would have to be now, wouldn’t it,” muttered Sebastian.

“You mean after something happened between you and Anthea?”

Anthea just sighed, “Holmeses.”

“You can just TELL that?!”

Sherlock turned and looked him over with what John recognized as his ‘puzzle solving’ face. “You were doing something violent, obviously, from the scratches, but the fact that you aren’t hiding them and she isn’t reacting indicates that was consensual, however you are only dressed in pants, but Anthea is fully dressed, indicating a need to reassert control– Jim was right, clothing is part of the power dynamic–”

Anthea interrupted with a snort, “We had violent and enthusiastic sex: after that Sebastian ASKED if I would mind if he topped to work out some aggression.  I agreed, it was consensual, however I was… rattled.  I never safeworded, however, so that’s between the two of us.”

Sebastian looked like he was going to melt on her.

“So your meeting Jim in some way relates to this?”

Sebastian sighed, “It’s an ugly story and I don’t want to upset Anthea any more than I already did.” he looked thoughtfully at Sherlock, “I really don’t think you want to–”

“Jim had me watch him in the room with Mycroft.” Sherlock said in a very controlled voice.

Anthea frowned worriedly, “but Sebastian was here…”

“I am coming to some conclusions and I would rather work with better data.”

“I met Jim…” Sebastian rubbed his forehead. “You want the short form? I attacked him and hurt him badly.”

Anthea looked dumbfounded, John startled, “You did? But you… umm… you always seemed like…”

“Your opposite number?” Sebastian shrugged, “I am now.”

“He did to you what he’s doing to Mycroft, didn’t he?” Sherlock asked.

Anthea stared at Sherlock in disbelief, “What?”

“Basically…” Sebastian pulled one of the chairs over and sat down backwards in it, crossing his arms over the back of the chair. “Except I was a prisoner for most of it– Mycroft keeps getting let loose.” He looked blankly off at a wall, “Of course Jim’s gotten better at it.”

John was running through what he knew of brainwashing and Stockholm syndrome, about the research he’d done for Sherlock, but nothing quite fit.

“You… You were a prisoner?” Anthea looked very confused and slowly reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Don’t, Babe,” He shook his head, “don’t feel bad about it. You have Jim to thank for me being safe to deal with at all; I wasn’t a nice guy.”

Sherlock snorted in an amused fashion, “You aren’t a nice guy now.”

“No, but I’m controlled.”

For some reason Sherlock flinched.

Sebastian grinned, “Oh yes, Mycroft will be controlled when he’s done.  He’ll still be a sadistic son-of-a-bitch, but he’ll be JIM’s sadistic son–of–a–bitch: I should know.”

“Jim made him promise not to touch any of his people without permission– that included me.” Sherlock  said slowly, “It didn’t stop you…”

“The only reason I even COULD touch you was that in my mind you hurt Jim.” Sebastian shrugged, “I’m not allowed to hurt people just because they’re pretty.” He sighed, “Not allowed to do much of anything non-consenting without meeting one of the conditions.” He looked at Sherlock, “You’re off limits.  Even if you said you wanted to, I’d have to ask Jim.”

John was trying to make sense of it but Sherlock just nodded slowly. “Mycroft isn’t allowed to touch any of Jim’s people or have authority over them without Jim’s permission.  He very specifically included me. The way he said it… it reminded me to a great extent of what he said to you– I’d wondered about the similarity.”

~

Anthea closed her eyes and tried to get her thoughts pulled together.  Sherlock had seen how badly rattled she was, but not the details: if Mycroft saw her anytime soon it would be a disaster. _Sebastian had been a prisoner?  He wasn’t safe before?  He attacked Jim?_ She remembered him saying about how he had years of good will built up... _This was what was going on with Mycroft?_

“Sebastian… how badly did you hurt Jim?” She asked as carefully as she could, trying not to upset him.

“Put him in the hospital– thought I’d killed him, at the time.”

“Compared to what Mycroft did?”

Sebastian blinked a lot: Sherlock was standing very still watching– _probably taking things in I’m not even seeing._

“More immediate danger to his life, but… nothing that left any lasting damage I know of.”

Sherlock asked quietly, “Did he follow the same pattern?”

“What do you mean?” Sebastian asked.

Mycroft was turned loose– you said you were not– but he was being conditioned with sex… until he tried something again and even then...”

“Conditioned with sex?” Anthea almost choked on the idea of anyone conditioning SEBASTIAN with sex, until she saw his reaction.

“Oh… yeah… about that…”

“What?!” John sputtered.

“Mind-blowingly good sex, and conditioning to get off on punishments;” Sebastian looked thoughtful, “so yeah, similar techniques, just… better? Mycroft isn’t as violent as I was, so he can take it a lot easier on him– that and he has more resources available.”

“So how well controlled are your sadistic tendencies now?” Sherlock was asking like it was nothing, but Anthea was suddenly seeing the patterns falling into place…

“I need an outlet, or I need to be taken down.” He shrugged uncomfortably, “Jim usually takes me down but he was busy.”

“Before Jim? Or without Jim? What would you normally do?” Sherlock hadn’t moved, he was just watching everything, with very little expression.

Sebastian sighed, “Before? I was crude– I had no finesse at all; as Jim said, strictly a blunt instrument.  I used to help soften people up for the military interrogators, and yes, that included rape.”

John looked horrified, poor honorable military man that he was.

Sebastian continued, “I raped people and beat them up for fun, the only concern I ever had was getting caught– and not much of that–and while I was killing time after my discharge I ended up being a gang enforcer– which is how I ran into Jim.” He looked over at her and gave her a sad smile, “It wouldn’t have been fun for you– I didn’t care about making it fun for anyone else.”

“Then you have changed a lot.” She thought about HOW enjoyable he was as a partner, and tried not to shudder when she realized he’d been very accurate about saying he could make someone enjoy it even if they didn’t want to.

_Conditioning with sex… and Mycroft… hadn’t ever… Oh dear God._

“Yeah, you wouldn’t have liked me before.”  He looked back over at Sherlock, “and you want to know the most surreal damn thing about it all?”

“Probably, what?”

“I had a job waiting for me, once the scandal died down and the attention was off of me.  If Jim hadn’t picked me up, assuming I hadn’t gotten myself killed by then, I would have been one of the men working for Mycroft, interrogating him.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seriously? why does everything happen at once....  
> PTSD, anxiety, fear of loss

Mycroft couldn’t retreat into his mind– not entirely– it was more as if parts of his mind palace were escaping into the real world. People kept showing up to berate him, taunt him, stare at him– except most of them were dead; people who only truly lived in his mind anymore.

Sometimes Jim spoke to him, but Mycroft wasn’t sure anymore what was real.

He was stripped bare– his deepest secrets laid out to be seen– his brother had seen him, heard his admissions, and Jim… Jim sat on a throne with a flog and an electronic control keeping him both anchored in his body and unable to escape, and too wracked with pleasure/ pain/ whatever it was to think.  Somehow he’d hallucinated being taken back to Jim’s room–imagined Jim carefully securing him as though it was tucking him into bed.

*

Sebastian and Anthea had gone back into her room– not long after that it was very quiet, quiet enough that John thought he heard the door to the hallway open and close, so he assumed Anthea was sleeping alone. _Of course they didn’t seem to sleep much when they were together._

Sherlock had curled up on the chair in John’s room, steepled his fingers and… left.  _Gone into that mind palace_ , John assumed. John did his best to make him comfortable and eventually lay down to sleep. 

~

_He was in Afghanistan, trying to save a man– knowing it was hopeless._

_He was bleeding and in pain, begging God to let him live._

_He was watching Sherlock fall…_ “I’m here, John, It’s alright.”

 _Sherlock was lying broken on the ground, and there was so much blood, and the sand was getting in his lungs and he couldn’t breathe…_ “John…”

“John, I’m here, you’re safe…”

“I don’t care about me… I couldn’t save you…” _Sherlock was lying dead on the concrete and he couldn’t think– it’s my fault, I should have seen it, should have killed Moriarty, should have been able to help…_

~

John woke up muzzily to arms around him. “I’m here, I’m safe, John… I was more worried about you.”

John rolled over and ran his hands across Sherlock’s face, put his head down on his chest and felt his heart beating, and fell asleep.

*

“You have a busy day in front of you Mycroft; I suggest you eat this time.”

Mycroft blinked into consciousness– _Jim’s bed, nude, arms secured behind his back, legs shacked_ – Jim just smiled brightly down at him and held up a collar.

“DO behave yourself this time; I assure you you’ll need the energy.”

Mycroft couldn’t bring himself to struggle: even being concerned or humiliated seemed like too much energy was required. Jim slipped the collar on and locked it in place. He was tugged to his feet and led out of the room: Mycroft wasn’t really paying attention, for him, but they didn’t go far just into a different suite of rooms with something like a breakfast buffet set up.

Sebastian was already there, fully dressed, armed and looking at Mycroft as Jim led him in– despite Mycroft’s general blankness some part of him couldn’t stop noticing and observing: _he didn’t look as smug as I would expect, more measuring? Wary?_

Jim stopped– he’d noticed too–“what’s got you all bothered Tiger?”

Sebastian slowly lowered his head- it was a submissive gesture, but only barely– “Difficult evening, sir.”

“Come here, Tiger,” when Sebastian walked over Jim reached up and touched the man’s face, stroking his hand to behind Sebastian’s ear– Sebastian leaned into it and closed his eyes.  Mycroft felt torn between relief that they seemed to be ignoring him, and wanting to study the relationship between the two, but it was all overlaid by a grey lassitude, so he just observed, and filed everything away until later.

Jim was rubbing and petting at Sebastian’s scalp and the tension started bleeding out of him; eventually– swaying on his feet like he was drugged– he let Jim lead him to a chair.  Jim sat in the chair and Sebastian folded himself down to kneel by his side.

That got Mycroft’s bewildered attention. Last time, and the time before that, Jim had made Mycroft kneel while Sebastian sat at the table or stood guard… but here he was kneeling by Jim’s side, leaning his head into Jim’s knee.

“Mycroft,” Jim’s voice was soft, “I suggest you get comfortable on the other side of the chair.” Mycroft did, as best he could.  Jim simply dropped the leash in front of his feet and kept rubbing Sebastian’s head and neck. 

After a while Sebastian murmured, “I hate you, you know.”

“If it makes you feel better to think so,” Jim sounded amused, “And if you wanted some attention there are less painful ways of asking for it than forgetting your manners.”

Sebastian chuckled, “You were playing with your new Tiger.”

“Mycroft isn’t a Tiger, Sebie.”

“I had to ask Anthea to let me work off some aggression, sir.”

Mycroft tensed, but Jim just smiled, “Did you? How’d she handle it?”

“She…She was upset, but she’s still talking to me, and she told Sherlock it wasn’t his concern.”

“Hmmm… Were you a considerate Tiger?”

“Yeah, I think it bugged her.” Sebastian was smiling– Mycroft tried not to let his concern show, but Jim noticed.

“How was Sherlock?” Jim asked.

Mycroft tensed and his focus sharpened, burning away some of the lassitude.

“He asked if you were doing to Mycroft what you did to me.” He said quietly into Jim’s leg.

Mycroft actually picked his head up, then, despite the uncomfortable sensation of the collar around his throat.

“Well, he always was clever. What did you tell them?” Jim asked curiously

“That there were some differences, but generally…. Yes.” Sebastian smiled wolfishly, “I told him Mycroft would still be a sadistic son-of-a-bitch but he’d be YOUR sadistic son-of-a-bitch.”

Jim laughed, and ran his hand down Sebastian’s neck and back, “That’s true. So what did you tell them about how you fell into my nefarious clutches?”

“The truth, as far as it went, that I attacked you and hurt you– put you in the hospital.”

Mycroft actually gasped.  More of the fog cleared from his mind and he suddenly saw it all: Sebastian had attacked and hurt Jim, and Jim broke him– conditioned him somehow– and the similarities were suddenly so terribly clear…

 _“You aren’t the only sadist in the room, Mycroft, merely the least experienced,”_ Jim had said… Mycroft wasn’t the first person to hurt Jim and be brought to heel, Sebastian was– or at least he predated Mycroft.

“Sebie, darling, take Mycroft’s leash.” He did, without moving his head or looking up from having his shoulders rubbed. “I HAD planned on breakfast first, Tiger.”

“Yes, sir.” Sebastian didn’t move, just knelt there with his head on Jim’s knee, holding the end of Mycroft’s leash.

Jim smiled fondly down at him, “I’m too soft on you, you know.”

Sebastian just laughed. “Yes, Sir, we both know you hate to punish me.”

Mycroft tried to parse the  meaning and layers here, but they had known each other for so long, and his mind was still not working as well as it should.

“Oh, you know I have to punish you Tiger.  If you’d just wanted some play time you could have asked nicely… Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

“You’re keeping him.”

“Smart is always worth keeping, Tiger.” Jim’s hand’s slowed, paused, he lifted Sebastian’s chin and looked down at him– _realization, amusement, pity_? Mycroft managed to focus on Sebastian: he was worried, and hurting, and… something Mycroft couldn’t quite figure out.

“I’m not replacing you, Sebastian.”

Sebastian closed his eyes and looked… like he wanted to believe him, and didn’t quite.

Jim sighed, “I’m going to take you down, Tiger, and because you DO need to be punished, Mycroft is going to watch.” Sebastian flinched.  “Settle Mycroft someplace comfortable to watch, Tiger.”

Sebastian lifted Mycroft to his feet, and walked him over to near an area that, as well as it suited the décor, looked suspiciously easy to clean– _yes, there was a drain at the lowest point_.  Sebastian secured Mycroft’s ankle chain to a terribly convenient anchor point and got him a pillow to kneel on.

Much to Mycroft’s confusion, Sebastian then stripped neatly and efficiently, went to the wall, knelt, and held his arms out to restraint points there.  Jim walked over with cuffs, closed them around Sebastian’s wrists and dragged his nails down Sebastian’s back, “Good Tiger.” Sebastian arched into it and shivered.

Jim walked out.

Mycroft knelt on the pillow, trying to make sense of this. _I’m… like Sebastian?_

“You’re very quiet, Holmes.” Sebastian said into the wall.

“I don’t understand.” Mycroft admitted quietly.

“I expect you will.”

*

Jim walked up to John and Sherlock’s room and knocked on the door. Sherlock opened it and looked… _now why did he look so worried?_

“Something wrong, Sherl?”

Sherlock lied and said “No,” and then bit his lip, “Just tell me where–”

John grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him back into the room behind him: he had a wide-eyed and panicked look that he was disguising under anger….

“I thought you were busy?” John was trying to sound aggressive at him… _panic, he was panicked, afraid? No afraid for Sherlock…_

“Ah, nightmare?” Jim shrugged, “I’m not hurting Sherlock.”

“John,” Sherlock was getting upset, frantic that Jim would hurt his pet, “John, please just go back into the room…”

Jim sighed, “Right. We’re settling this now. Come along, both of you.” he turned and walked down the hall. _Everything always happened all at once; couldn’t people… schedule this or something?_

He went into one of the conference rooms and sat down in a chair.  Once Sherlock and John came in he just nodded to the door, Sherlock closed and locked it– for some reason John’s tension ratcheted higher.

“So, John; you’re all kinds of anxious, and that’s making Sherlock all kinds of anxious, and then YOU get more anxious, and sooner or later one of you does something stupid and I have to punish you– so can we find some way to put a stop to this?”

Sherlock blinked at him several times and Jim could see that he understood it: John… didn’t. _Too wound up I suppose._

John was still trying to stay between Sherlock and Jim, and was speaking in that kind of low controlled voice that spelled explosions. “You can’t just leave him alone, can you? He’s been worried and anxious all week and now this?  You got Mycroft, if that’s what you want why can’t you just leave us out of it.”

“Worried and…?” Jim frowned, “I’ve been rather busy this past week or two– Bennison mostly, but my business is still recovering from darling Mycroft’s plotting– what on earth are you talking about?”

Sherlock started with, “I’ve just been a bit anxious about the clothing and the trip on Tuesday–”

And John went OFF with an obviously long repressed rant.  Jim sat there politely listening and trying to pick out the important parts, while Sherlock kept increasingly worriedly trying to stop John and watching Jim like he was going to explode.  Eventually John wound down and stood in front of Sherlock, facing Jim, fists clenched and breathing hard.

“You know I left Sebie chained to a wall and Mycroft chained to the floor, so I really have a limited time here.”

“What?” John stared at him, Sherlock’s mouth dropped open and he shut it with a click and started calculating.

“I had THOUGHT that it might help settle Sherlock’s nerves a bit about Sebastian if I brought him down to watch.”

“Why the HELL are you punishing Sebastian?!” John at least looked more confused than angry now.

“Because he wants me to? Because he needs it?” Jim shrugged, “I think he’s afraid he’ll be replaced by Mycroft.”

John was starting to look mostly bewildered; Sherlock nodded slowly, “We were talking about the similarities last night.”

Jim was beginning to feel the onset of a depressive crash and he simply couldn’t afford it. “Doctor Watson… among the innumerable things you were ranting about you mentioned my ‘sitting here like a superior git’.”

John reacted to the title and last name and looked a touch uncomfortable at the quote, but  nodded, “You have everyone kneeling around you and standing while you sit down like you’re some kind of royalty.”

Jim couldn’t help the smirk, “Ask Sherlock about that sometime, Johnny boy–” The nickname started John boiling again; Jim sighed and stripped off a shoe.  He tossed it at John. “Look at that”

John looked perplexed and looked at the shoe while Jim stripped off his sock.  He could see when John processed the heavy padding and orthopedic support. Sherlock was looking at his foot and trying to pretend not to.

“So Doctor, have a good look at the bottom of my foot and tell me why I sit down all the time.”

Jim held his foot out– John hesitantly came up and took his foot and examined it.  Jim gritted his teeth against the horrified and pitying look.

“My God… Mycroft did that?”

“Yes.” Jim pulled his foot back and started putting on his sock. “Do fetch the shoe back, if you please?”

Sherlock picked it up and handed it to John– John was obviously going to say something sincere and idiotic.

Jim took the shoe back and put it on, “I wouldn’t, Doctor. Don’t misunderstand me: I am not a good person, I am not on the side of the angels, and I am not the innocent victim– in fact I refuse to BE a victim.” He looked up; Sherlock had pulled him back a bit.

“If you are expecting me to be a monster, however, I can assure you there are far worse monsters than I am out there.” Jim tilted his head, “I suspect Sherlock finally understood something– although knowing something intellectually and feeling it are two different things– It’s the one thing you have to rely on, Doctor Watson– Captain.

“I have never once betrayed a trust, or broken my given word– not since I was an adult, anyway.  I told Sherlock that as long as he obeyed me he wouldn’t be harmed, and he hasn’t been: I never said he wouldn’t be told uncomfortable truths, or shown things he didn’t want to see, but I haven’t harmed him.”

“He jumped off a ROOF!”

“I told him I owed him a fall,” Jim said calmly, “and that was before. Go ahead and be angry, Johnny boy, but the simple fact is this: I own all of you, and the deal I have with Sherlock stands: Obey me, and you won’t be harmed. I’ll even protect you, such as I can, from all the other monsters out there, like Bennison.”

Jim stood up and kept eye contact with John.  He had to know how much standing up would hurt, and yes, when he saw Jim stand up without flinching he took a step back.

“I even let you  stand there and curse me out for all those real and imagined slights– and before you say anything a number of those problems aren’t attributable to me, but to Sherlock or Mycroft, and you saw my feet– and you still get to walk away unscathed, because you didn’t do it in public.

“If you’d done that in public and hurt my reputation, I would have HAD to punish you, but you’re military– you must understand that.”

~

Sherlock quietly said, “You’re entire empire is built on reputation and belief.”

Jim grinned, “Indeed it is, Sherlock, it’s all smoke and mirrors and the belief that I am untouchable, and anything that says otherwise? Well… in any event I’ve been gone too long: either stay here and deal with John, or come watch me take Sebastian down.”

“I’ll stay with John, if you don’t mind.” _I’d had no idea how much some of those things still bothered him._

“Suit yourself.”

Sherlock sagged slightly after he was gone. “It’s not his fault that no one told you I wasn’t dead, John, it’s mine.”

“You were a prisoner!”

“Not at first, not until he escaped Mycroft.  Mycroft had him for over two months.” Sherlock shivered, “I don’t know how he survived, and I don’t know why I did.”

“Sherlock, it’s not–”

“I did the best I knew how, John, I was trying to protect you and the others, and I honestly thought I was doing the right thing, but apparently I hurt you. Jim may be to blame for a lot of this, but not telling you? that was Mycroft and myself–  trying to make sure the snipers and agents watching you never saw any hint that I was off alive and hunting them down.”

“I’m afraid every time you go away.” John said quietly, “Especially when it has to do with him… I’m afraid I’ll watch you die again.”

“It won’t happen.  I’d do anything to keep you safe, and he knows it. I won’t do anything to put you in danger, and he won’t break his word.  It’s not always pleasant, but…” Sherlock shook his head, “I’m not going to die.” _I just wish I was as certain about Mycroft._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> conversations... and some of the new tags come into play.  
> ( a reminder that Mycroft is emotionally stripped to the bone- his control is shattered)

Mycroft tried to adjust his position to be more comfortable, but eventually he simply decided to endure it– it certainly could be worse.

“Stop fidgeting.” Sebastian was kneeling facing away, arms chained to the wall, and hadn’t turned his head.

“I don’t fidget.” Mycroft snapped, “It’s merely uncomfortable.”

“I don’t even have a cushion, so stop complaining.”

“Shouldn’t he be back by now?”

“Yeah.”

“So shouldn’t you check?”

“First of all, you assume I can get my hands loose. Secondly even if I COULD I would sooner cut my own throat than move when he told me not to– it’s just a test or something.” He sighed, “Or he got busy and forgot about us, or he got busy with something important and figures we’ll wait…” there was a pause, “or he’s really upset and this is part of the punishment.” Sebastian leaned his head into the wall, his shoulders were tense.

“You… actually can’t get loose?”

“I doubt it, but even if I DID get loose I wouldn’t be able to get myself back in.”

Mycroft stared at his back for a while, it was scarred and only some of the scars looked like combat injuries.

“He flogs you?” Mycroft was trying to understand, but his head still felt like it was stuffed with cotton– just perhaps less cotton.

“Yes, or sometimes he plays with knives… or a violet wand.”

“A what?”

“Electricity.”

“Oh.”

After what felt like a very long time, but wasn’t, Sebastian spoke again, “Did you use electricity on him when you had him?”

“The first time– when we had him in interrogation– yes, not… not when I had him.”

“He probably laughed at them.”

“He did.” Mycroft cleared his throat, “We tried waterboarding too–”

Sebastian started laughing so hard Mycroft was concerned he was going to concuss himself on the wall.

“I wasn’t aware it was that funny…”

“I used to help waterboard some of the prisoners in the military– I even demonstrated for Jim once he had me– he thinks it’s a bit crude.” Sebastian snickered, “Offered me fire or water as a choice of punishments when he’d first caught me: I thought water meant he’d waterboard me.”

Mycroft blinked a lot, “What did it mean?”

“I got a major enema and a vibrating butt plug,” he was still chuckling, “I was begging him to kill me and it never even left a mark.” He sighed in a wistful fashion, “Jim’s so damn good at that.” Then his voice turned dark, “and you had to go and cut him up like that.”

“I… regret that.”

“Because he punished you?”

“No, because at the time I didn’t intend for him to live, so I didn’t care what it looked like– I just wanted him to hurt, and bleed.” Mycroft sighed, “And apparently I lack finesse…” Mycroft added quietly, “I still want to hear him scream sometimes.”

“Ah.” He nodded slowly into the wall. “I wanted him to scream, and be afraid, and beg…” Mycroft could feel the shame and hurt pouring off of him.

“What did you do to him?”

“Hit him, secured him, ripped his clothes off, raped him.” Sebastian was breathing hard, “tore him up inside, cut up his wrists, broke his cheekbone bashing his face into the concrete…”

Mycroft couldn’t even imagine him raising a hand to the man. “And he didn’t kill you, either,” Mycroft mused, “How very odd.”

“Smart is worth keeping.” He said it like a mantra. “Besides, he loves turning the tables like that; breaking apart people who hurt him.”

Mycroft suddenly wondered how many times he’d done that. “How…how many?”

“Oh, he doesn’t usually keep them, just break them.  He’s kept a lot of people but most of them are just… prisoners he found or people he rescued… like Lloyd, or Sherlock, or–”

“Sherlock wasn’t a prisoner he found.”

“Sherlock didn’t hurt him.”

“Oh… no, no he didn’t. I did.” Mycroft sighed, “I was trying to protect Sherlock, and indulge my interests…” He’d bottled them up for so long; even Jack didn’t understand how much he wanted to do. “I had to be so careful not to go too far.”

“He’ll teach you, you know. He taught me… how to stretch your claws out safely– how to get a fix without killing people,” Sebastian was still breathing hard, “accidentally killing them anyway.”

“Did you always like…” Mycroft trailed off, he had no idea how to ask.                                                 

“Hurting people? Rape? Yeah, especially anyone who was arrogant or didn’t knuckle under to me damn fast.” Sebastian laughed, and it wasn’t a pleasant sound, Mycroft had a chill run up his spine remembering how defenseless he was– he could only be glad Sebastian was chained up as well.

“I didn’t used to like the other side of things, though.” Sebastian flexed his arms in the restraints. “That was all Jim…”

They both heard the click of the door.  Mycroft was torn between looking over to see what was coming, and not wanting to know– he stared at the chain trailing from his collar.

Jim dragged something around a bit and put it down. “Easy Tiger,” Jim’s voice was soothing, “I’m here.”

“Yes, Sir.” He sounded desperately grateful.

Jim moved into Mycroft’s peripheral vision and sat down on a chair, “Did you two have a nice chat?”

“I… guess?”

Mycroft sighed, “I don’t know if it was a ‘nice chat’ but we had an interesting one.”

“Ah? What did you find interesting, Mycroft?”

“That he hurt you, how he hurt you, and that you taught him restraint, apparently…”

Jim giggled, “I taught Sebie restraint in both senses of the word, didn’t I, Tiger?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why are we alive?” Mycroft asked again, not expecting an answer, really.

“Smart is worth keeping, Mycroft.  Besides, I wanted to.” Jim stood up and stretched, “What I love most of all is taking  people with potential and turning them into art– so many people waste their potential, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” Mycroft answered quietly.

“I’ll never let Sherlock fall into drugs again, you know: that was a horrible waste.”

“I tried.”

Jim stood up and patted him on the head as he moved forward: he had a leather belt in his hand.

“Tiger… you know I prefer a finer flog…”

“Yes, sir?”

“But sometimes it’s nice to go back for old time’s sake…” Jim hit him three times in rapid succession wielding the belt as if it was a precision instrument. Sebastian howled and jerked in the restraints.

Jim kept hitting him, although Mycroft could see the blows were nowhere near as hard as the first three. Sebastian started out howling and screaming and cursing– _abusive father, he went to Eton? And then to military school_ – eventually degraded into panting and whimpering, and finally softened under it, rocking back and forth under the blows.

Mycroft had never been so hard in his life, he was convinced.

Jim stroked a hand over Sebastian’s back and he moaned– Mycroft moaned hearing it. Jim unlocked Sebastian and gently guided him over to… a gym mat? Sebastian collapsed on it and Jim poured liquid over his back and legs and rubbed over the welts.  Sebastian was shivering and moaning; Mycroft was pretty sure he was too.

“You want me on top, Tiger?” Jim asked gently, stroking across the welts.

Sebastian nodded and struggled to get to his knees and put his arms under him: Jim got a cushion for him and he just lay over it.  Jim looked pointedly back over at Mycroft and repositioned himself so Mycroft could see clearly– Mycroft didn’t think he could look away if he tried.

Jim looped the belt around Sebastian’s neck like a leash, and he moaned again– Mycroft’s collar felt very tight, and the chain felt much heavier.  He honestly felt like everything was getting syrupy again.

Jim took more of the liquid and started working Sebastian open, Mycroft could see what he was doing, relaxing the ring of muscle and reaching inside to the prostate– suddenly a great deal of the sensations he’d experienced made sense.

Jim pulled the belt around Sebastian’s throat tight and pushed into him.  Mycroft had a visceral flashback to Jim, a silk tie, and the first time… Sebastian never even brought his hands up to the belt. Jim loosened the belt and Sebastian gasped and shuddered.

“I’m not letting you go,” Jim said quietly as he fucked him.  “You’re my very own tame Tiger and I’m keeping you, so stop fretting.”

“Yes, Sir.” He gasped raggedly; Mycroft thought he’d been crying.

Mycroft watched as he reached around Sebastian and started stroking him; Sebastian came quickly with a shuddering moan.  Mycroft was gasping heavily and wondering if it was possible for him to come just watching.

Jim leaned forward and started rubbing his fingers into Sebastian’s scalp.  Leaning on the welts must have hurt but Sebastian just arched up into his hands.

“There’s my good Tiger.” Jim was murmuring quietly.  He pulled out, still hard, and pulled Sebastian’s head around and kissed him, still digging his fingers in to his scalp and neck, and working down to his shoulders.  Sebastian’s eyes were closed and he was just moving under Jim’s hands. Jim gently took the belt off his neck and moved the cushion up for his head. He got up, walked over to a closet and came back with a blanket.

It was almost physically painful watching Jim take care of him.  Mycroft suddenly realized that he wanted Jim to show that kind of affection for him– he wanted Jim to  work the tension out of his muscles and soothe his fears…  he looked away and blinked back the moisture  forming in his eyes.  He never needed anyone before; he certainly didn’t need HIM…

Two hands pressed down on his shoulders and he jerked and nearly fell.

“Shhh… It’s just me.” Jim unclipped his leg chain from the floor and helped him up.  He felt shaky and unbalanced but Jim guided him over to the cushion next to the chair they’d started in– when Sebastian had knelt on one side with him on the other: this time he was on “Sebastian’s” side.

“Everything always at once,” Jim said in an amused tone. “I’m sure you’re used to that from work, Mycroft.”

“Yes, of course.” He knew his voice was hoarse: he just knelt on the cushion and tried to discipline his mind and body– it didn’t seem to be working well.

Jim went over to the buffet and came back with a tray, which he set down on a small table next to his chair.  Jim’s hand idly reached down and massaged into Mycroft’s scalp and down his neck, and the tension started melting out of him.

“You both take a flog beautifully, if differently.” Jim said as he stroked down Mycroft’s neck.

Mycroft opened his mouth to say something and Jim brought his other hand over and put a bit of sticky sweet cinnamon roll into it.  Mycroft moaned and swallowed it before he could stop himself.

“Mycroft,” Jim said in his most amused voice, as he held another piece positively dropping with frosting, to his lips, “There’s no point in trying to deny yourself.  It’s not even your decision, so you certainly can’t blame yourself.”

Mycroft tried to move his head away– he kept licking the taste of frosting off his lips. “You know I–”

“Supposedly had a weight problem, have a severe sweet tooth, and choose to eat very boring not sweet things and go to expensive restaurants with tiny portions when you go out… I also saw you at your least guarded, darling… you keep sweets in the house, and you make up baked goods and I doubt they last very long.” Jim paused for a while, “In fact I’d be willing to bet you binge on sweets every once in a while until you get sick, or make yourself get sick.”

Mycroft didn’t so much flinch as cringe.

“Shhhh… Shhhh… Here.” Jim fed him a fork full of egg. “No more of that, Mycroft, It’s not good for you– you get sweets as a single portion desert with a meal, or when I give it to you.  See?  Nothing more to worry about.”

Jim fed him more egg, and some bacon, and then some fruit dipped in what tasted like half melted whipped cream. He tried not to eat them.

Jim dug his hand into his hair and kneaded his scalp and then pulled on his hair– Mycroft moaned and Jim put a bit of cream covered fruit in his mouth: he swallowed it and sagged.

“Mycroft Holmes,” Jim snorted, “Has it never once crossed your mind to just ASK?”

“Ask what?”

“You try to lock your mouth shut, you swallow food and look guilty… has it occurred to you to ASK me not to feed you something? Or to give you a specific thing?” he laughed lightly and leaned over the side of the chair and murmured into Mycroft’s ear, “or to ask me to flog you until you can’t stand it and then feed you strawberries and chocolate?”

The image that flashed into Mycroft’s mind was so vivid he reeled and would have fallen if Jim hadn’t grabbed his shoulder.

“You aren’t in charge here, Mycroft, that doesn’t mean you can’t ask for things.  In any event I take good care of my people, and I wouldn’t feed you anything that wasn’t good for you.”

“Cinnamon rolls and whipped cream,” Mycroft almost whispered, “I can’t… I can’t have them.”

“Because you can’t trust yourself to just have a little, can you?”

The admission hurt worse than being shot, “No.”

“Then you only get it from me. I’m the only one who gives you any, and you can’t have it from anyone else.”

“So you use that to reward me and then I’ll–”

“Nonsense, Mycroft, I use food as a reward for Sebastian, but you had a problem with it so you don’t get that: it would be like giving Sherlock drugs as a reward.I’m simply going to train you that you only get them from me.” Jim pulled him upright and leaned over and kissed him– eventually he pulled back. “We’ll just have to stick to sex and floggings for you.  Eat your breakfast Mycroft, you have a full schedule.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock and John spoke for a little while before Anthea knocked at the connecting door.

“Come in.”

Anthea came in and sighed, “I don’t suppose you have any–” _she wanted to know what was going on both with Sebastian and Mycroft._

“Yes; Jim was here,” Sherlock said. “He said he was about to flog Sebastian– he claimed he wanted him to?”

Anthea bit her lip and nodded. “He probably does.” Then she blinked at him, “Why was he here telling you that?”

“He wanted to know if it would help me feel more at ease to watch.”

John sighed, “and I was already a bit freaked out from a bad nightmare: so we ended up talking– or rather I ended up going off at him.”

Anthea looked him up and down, “You know, our profile on him apparently sucks.”

Sherlock laughed at that. “Yes, yes I suppose it does, although that’s not really my field.”

All three of them startled at the brisk knock on the door.  John went over and opened it.

“HI, my name is Julie. Lloyd asked me to take you to breakfast if you want.”

Sherlock looked over to see an ordinary looking woman in jeans and a t-shirt looking them all over. “Julie the computer expert who used to have Lloyd’s position?”  That got Anthea’s attention rather immediately.

“Yup.” She smiled, “Sherlock Holmes, and this must be John Watson– I’ve read your blogs.”

“Both of them?” John asked.

She rolled her eyes, “Yes both of them.  Breakfast?”

“Yes, please.” Anthea nodded. “You were in charge of the computers before Lloyd?”

“Yes. I’d be a lot more upset about it except Lloyd is a brilliant neurotic git who doesn’t even notice that I’m a girl.”

“And that helps?”

“Yeah, I didn’t get replaced by some random guy geek asshole.”  Julie turned around and started walking backwards down the hall looking at Anthea, “You are actually VOLUNTARILY spending time with Sebastian?”

“Yes.”

“You are either very brave, very stupid, or you are hella into pain: you don’t look stupid.”

John cut in, “Can you turn around? I’m afraid you’re going to trip and break your neck and we’ll get blamed.”

She spun and continued walking forward, “I won’t, but yeah you might, I guess. We’re going to the privileged buffet– I figured you don’t want to eat with the goons and besides they don’t know anything: better to keep it that way.”

After a general agreement on that, Anthea asked, “Sebastian has a reputation, I take it? Even for voluntary bed partners?”

“Dunno, his voluntary bed partners are usually not here,” she waved around at the building, “and rarely stick around for long– I think he gets bored.”

John very hesitantly asked, “He has INvoluntary bed partners here?”

“He breaks people for Mister Moriarty, I thought you knew that?”

Sherlock nodded, “That was obvious, yes. He’s also a guard.”

“Some of the people he breaks get kept for a bit.” She shuddered, “I guess it’s a warning.”

Sherlock tried very hard to shut down his thinking on that line: John couldn’t help but follow it, he saw.

“I’m not into pain.” Anthea shrugged, “I’m a highly aggressive dominant with a sadistic streak: Sebastian is good in bed, and sturdy.”

John started coughing; Julie rolled her eyes and said “Oh. Dunno how that works with HIM, but don’t tell Lloyd that or he’ll never be in the room with you again– he twitches.”

Sherlock remembered Sebastian saying he needed to be taken down… “You don’t know how that would work with Sebastian?”

“No, I don’t want to either– dude scares me.” She let them into a room with several tables and a buffet sideboard. There were three other people in the room, two of whom looked up when they came in.

_One of whom was a spy._

Sherlock let John steer him through the buffet.  He didn’t pay any attention to anything else.  _Should I tell someone? Shouldn’t I be helping? He might work for my brother; he might work for someone else…._

“Julie, you said this was the privileged buffet?”

They all stared at him, and had apparently been in the middle of some discussion.

“Yesss?” Julie drew the word out.

“I need you to tell Jim he has a spy here.”

She stared at him blankly for a moment and then started tapping on her handheld in a fashion that reminded him of Anthea. “In here?”

“Yes.” Sherlock stared down at a plate that John must have put together for him, not knowing if he’d done the right thing, or a very wrong thing.

“Okay, told him. Anyway so like Lloyd just totally WALTZED through all my security? Even though he was working on a system he hadn’t prepped. I couldn’t even figure out what he was DOING…” Julie obviously picked up where she had left off.

John squeezed Sherlock’s hand in a reassuring fashion– it helped.

*

Jim fed Mycroft a rather different breakfast than he’d planned: leaner, more savory, less sweet.

_I’m missing things.  I suppose it’s only to be expected with him: I’m not used to anyone at my own level, not really._

Jim had thought Mycroft merely worried about regaining weight. Sherlock’s one verbal recourse that seemed to actually hit was his weight, and his sweet tooth… and Jim was kicking himself for missing it.

A simple concern about middle aged weight, or having been a chubby youth, wasn’t going to get through to the Iceman.  Jim had put it down to family being able to get to you when no one else could, but that wasn’t it.

Jim had seen the unexpected reaction, taken a calculated shot about binge eating, and seen it hit.

Mycroft had an eating disorder– likely tied up with his obsessive need for control– and that changed everything.

 _If I use sweets as a reward the way I’d planned_ – which Mycroft had been afraid of at breakfast– _he’ll spiral down so hard and so fast it would be blinding_. Jim smiled wickedly. Not that that couldn’t be fun… but it would be counterproductive.  _Now I’m going to have to re-work my whole weekend._

Still, he’d also noted some other useful reactions… Jim reached down and started working at Mycroft’s scalp and neck, watching the man fight the urge to melt under him.  Touch starved, and never giving in to anything but his most dominant and controlled behavior.  Of course with people like Bennison around lowering your defenses was unwise.

Change of plans.

“Once Sebastian wakes up enough to move, I’ll start you on Bennison.”

“What?” Mycroft tensed under Jim’s fingers, “That’s not what you had planned.”

“No, it’s not, but it’s what I have planned now.” Jim smirked.  What he was about to say was interrupted by his phone giving a subdued “beep” in a pitch that meant a security problem.

~

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed as Jim dropped everything and looked at his phone with a blank and pleasant mask. Then Jim hissed unhappily, but his eyes lit up. Something was wrong, but at the same time he was incredibly pleased about some aspect of it?

Jim started texting rapidly– _L ..we… security breach… people in privilege breakfast…Sherlock_ – then Jim either realized he could  understand it or happened to turn away.

“Tiger!” Jim shouted– he was grinning in that manic fashion that Mycroft had seen a few times on cameras and once in an interrogation room.

Sebastian jerked and pulled himself up, looking dazed.

“Tiiiiiiger, we have a new Toooooyyyyy!” Jim was singing the words like he did in some of the interrogation and in a few of the video recordings, but…

Mycroft forced his analysis to the fore, trying to ignore previous bias: Utter, vicious, sadism, delight, none of it aimed at him or Sebastian, Jim’s attention was focusing but plans were spinning off, contingencies  in all directions…

“We do?” Sebastian sounded cautious.

“A spy got into the privileged employees, Sebie…”

“WHAT?!”

Jim smirked, “He won’t have been able to get anything out electronically, so all we need to be sure of is that no recent events got out any other way– I don’t want anyone knowing about Mycroft or Bela. You know the drill Tiger.”

“Yes, sir!” Sebastian was up off the ground and pulling on his clothes and re-securing his weapons.

Mycroft was suddenly pulled to his feet, “Come along, Mycroft, we have to get you dressed.”

“Care to tell me what’s going on?”

Jim simply steered him back to the bedroom with an aura of barely suppressed glee… he didn’t say anything until they were inside and the door was closed.

“Try to take off that collar or misbehave, Mycroft, and I will demonstrate pain that won’t be any fun at all.” Jim  shot him a look with his eyes gone blank and cold, and then smiled cheerfully and unlocked his wrists.

Mycroft pulled his hands to in front of him with a groan.  He was still rubbing his arms back into shape when he realized Jim had taken off the walking chain as well.

“Why?”

“Because we MAY need to evacuate the building, and I suspect you’d prefer to walk out in clothing rather than be dragged out nude in chains?” Jim tossed him clothing– it wasn’t the suit he’d worn here.

Mycroft refrained from asking if he kept clothes in his size here since the answer was obviously yes. It was horribly casual: a Henley and a pair of slacks– the shoes looked like they would fit but were utterly unlike his style.

Jim had run into the bathroom and Mycroft was surprised to hear a shower running.

“Mycroft, get in here!”

He went in cautiously and the Jim grabbed the leash and hauled him into the shower.  He noticed with some pain that there was a shower seat for invalids–Jim’s feet, of course– but Jim wasn’t using it.

“Sorry not to have time to make this fun, darling, but I refuse to go on the run–if we have to– stinking like that.”

Mycroft shuddered at the idea himself and took the proffered body wash– it smelled like Jim; he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised.

Jim got them both out and told him to get dressed; as soon as they both were, Jim  pulled him down into a searingly, devastatingly distracting kiss. When Mycroft reeled back, blinking, he realized the collar was still on his neck, but the chain had been unlocked.

“Pity, I did love this house; hopefully we get to come back here.” Jim said with a sigh. “Come along Mycroft, we have to collect Bennison.”

*

They were almost done with breakfast when Sebastian wandered in.  Everyone else in the room tensed to some degree– Sherlock noted that the spy only looked wary, but one of the other men looked terrified.

“Jim said he wanted a concert.” Sebastian said idly at Sherlock, “So Julie takes you back to grab your violin.” _We may be leaving quickly._

Sherlock nodded.

The spy got up to leave and just nodded at Sebastian on his way out. Sherlock jerked his chin at the man and saw Sebastian’s eyes widen. _Him_?

 _Yes_. Sherlock nodded very slightly.

Sebastian waved at them, “Get the concert going, I have work.” Sebastian turned casually and walked out. Sherlock could see the change in his body language– he was upset, and… guilty? Perhaps for missing something?

Julie glanced at her phone and nodded. “Come on, boss hates to be kept waiting.”

It wasn’t until they were back to their rooms that Julie’s demeanor changed, “Okay so… we’re preemptively evacuating the building. Grab your things, we may never come back here, and then go to the garage– you remember where that is?” she looked at Anthea, “It’s where Bennison had been.”

“I remember.”

“If things really go tits up grab a vehicle and scram, but otherwise wait for  orders– you guys only listen to Jim, Sebastian, me or Lloyd, but the two of us will probably be  scrubbing computers and leaving separately– see ya!” she bolted out the door.

Sherlock gathered his things, still wondering if he’d made a mistake.

*

Mycroft was standing in the garage trying to figure out what to do next, when his brother came in with Anthea and John.  His eyes met Sherlock’s for the briefest moment – _guilt, worry, fear, concern_ – and he shut down; ruthlessly shoving anything like feeling or sentiment or embarrassment behind his “Iceman” façade.

“Why is there a laundry cart?” John asked in confusion.

“Tradition!” Jim laughed just as Sebastian came in with a man who looked placid and vacant.

Sebastian stopped in his tracks and stared at the laundry cart, and then he started laughing.  Jim grinned at him and cracked up.  Mycroft couldn’t keep the bewildered look off his face.

Sebastian cuffed his prisoner ankle and wrist and carefully put him in the laundry cart with Bennison, but he was still laughing.

“I don’t get it?” Anthea asked, glancing at Mycroft.

“I’m quite alright,” Mycroft said in his blandest work voice, “although I admit to not understanding the laundry cart either.”

A minion brought around a van labeled with signage for a laundry service that Mycroft was certain he’d seen doing catering work and hotel work as well as…laundry for the houses in his own neighborhood.

“I have seen this van, then, haven’t I?”

“Might not have been this one,” Jim smiled, “but yes the company works in your neighborhood.”

Sebastian and the other minion loaded the laundry cart into the back.  The van did, in fact, appear fully equipped with sheets and table covers and so on.  Sebastian tossed something to Jim and put something on himself, and suddenly Jim and Sebastian were two men in the uniform of a laundry and linens supply company.

“Everyone in the back.” Sebastian waved at them and once they were in Jim and Sebastian got in the front. Jim left a small window open connecting front to back.

“Clever.” Sherlock said after a pause.

Jim had popped a stick of gum in his mouth and Sebastian turned on the radio. “This is nothing.” Sebastian was still chuckling.

“Care to tell me what’s so funny about laundry yet?” John asked.

Jim laughed and patted Sebastian on the shoulder. “Before I had a big strong Tiger to carry people for me, I used laundry carts to move prisoners– including Sebastian.”

“I moved a lot of folks in laundry carts.” Sebastian said, chuckling.

“Hey, when a system works…” Jim answered.

After a short while on the road Jim started singing along to the radio.  Mycroft looked disbelieving over at the others.

Sherlock just shook his head– _not a clue_ –but at least he didn’t look worried or frightened.

Anthea was clearly trying to evaluate him for damage, although her eyes kept snagging on the collar.

“I’m not hurt, although having my wrists locked behind me for an extended period is uncomfortable.” Mycroft finally said.

There was an extremely uncomfortable silence.

John finally cleared his throat, “So where are we going?”

“Well,” Jim said cheerfully, “We have two prisoners– the spy being a higher priority of course, I already had Bennison questioned– and we need to know how much information he got to whom, so we have to go someplace that is  close by, where we can interrogate him.”

John looked uncomfortable, “How were you planning on interrogating him?”

“Well, doctor, drugs can be such an issue you know, unless there’s a medical person to  supervise,” Jim sounded amused, “but  if he’s a professional spy the drugs I have on hand might not work anyway– or he might be allergic– so we may have to use other means.”

Sherlock sighed, “I can GET you whatever drugs you need if we stay near London.”

“Might take you up on that, Sherl…”

Mycroft sighed, “You have a private clinic or something where interrogations can take place quietly?”

“Not at the moment, Mycroft darling, we need someplace soundproofed, with restraints, and  where the evidence can be cleaned up quickly… and it has to be secure with computer access and…  oh, all sorts of things…

“So I figured we’d go to your house…”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> back where we began...

_“I figured we’d go to your house…”_

“Everyone in the back of the van got very quiet at that.  Everyone but John had seen the room in Mycroft’s basement, and John had heard about it, but to have it brought up again…

Mycroft looked at the laundry cart, with some spy and Bennison, “I don’t have it set up… anymore.”

“I know.” Jim said pleasantly, “but it’s still soundproofed, the restraints are still there and you do still have your tools– although they’re crude.”

Mycroft stared at the towels and didn’t say anything for the rest of the trip.

They pulled the van up to Mycroft’s house and Jim got out. Sebastian got the laundry cart with practiced ease and they walked up to the house as though it was perfectly normal.

John had a nearly overwhelming urge to run screaming, but he didn’t know which way to go. He looked at Sherlock who was looking blank and controlled, at Anthea who was chewing her lip and watching Mycroft, and at Mycroft who looked– like he always looked, except under-dressed, with a collar on his neck, and a somewhat blanker expression.

Jim walked up casually and entered a code into the electronic security: Mycroft practically exploded.

“HOW!? We SECURED that!” Mycroft shouted– he could have gone into the military with that level of bellowing, both John and Sebastian reflexively braced.

Anthea was staring horrified at the door security as if it had grown tentacles.

“Loud…” Jim muttered.

~

Jim walked in and looked around– he hadn’t actually been inside since the big redecoration– it looked different.

“You re-did the kitchen, Mycroft? Why?”

Mycroft was spluttering.  Sebastian hauled the two men out of the cart and laid them out on the rug in a sheet. Jim petted him and quietly told him where to take the van– he’d be back in just a few minutes.

Jim went over and sat down at the casual table, the one Mycroft probably used for breakfast.

“Well, you won’t have changed the organization,” he said thoughtfully, “Johnny Boy? Want to get some tea set up?”

“Why are you asking me to fetch tea?”

“I’m not asking you to fetch tea; I’m asking you to MAKE tea. Surely you don’t think Sherlock can make a decent cuppa?”

John stood there and blinked at that and it was SO damned funny to watch his eyes slide sideways to Sherlock. “Err… well, no.”

“Take Sherlock with you, Mycroft’s tall and he puts a lot on the upper shelves.”

John and Sherlock went into the kitchen. Mycroft was still standing there alternately staring at Jim as though he was a hallucination and looking towards the door– he must REALLY still be rattled. Jim started processing it based on what he now knew about Mycroft’s weaknesses:  _Mycroft viewed certain areas as safe and controlled, his home was one of them; when I’d invaded his home before he’d reacted by re-decorating, even though changing his home environment was profoundly uncomfortable… ah._

“Why didn’t you ask me to go make tea?” Anthea asked him slowly, “I’ve been in the house before.”

“First of all I’ve HAD John’s tea but I’ve never had yours, secondly John wouldn’t dream of poisoning anyone that wasn’t an active current threat–you would– and thirdly Sherlock is agitated and being in a kitchen with John making tea should help.”

Mycroft put his attention properly back on Jim. “Do you ever do anything for just one reason?”

“Not if I can help it, why?”

“Will you tell me how you know the security codes to my house THIS time?”

Jim looked amused, “Maybe, if you’re good,” Mycroft clenched his jaw, “but ask me in private.”

“Anthea can know any–”

Jim smirked at him and let him see the sadistic edge slipping out from behind the mask, “I answer questions for a PRICE, Mycroft darling, and you don’t want to pay it in front of her.”

It was such a pleasure dealing with clever people for a change– Mycroft shut up instantly. Anthea mostly looked perplexed for a moment and then he saw her get the clues… she shut up too.

Jim sat quietly at the table, looking around.  Mycroft sat down in one of the softer chairs and mostly stared blankly at Jim.

Anthea eventually cleared her throat and asked about the prisoners.

“Sebie will be back shortly and he can help carry them downstairs– he’s very strong.”

“I… noticed.” Anthea sounded a bit off… _oh, right._

“He won’t hurt you; I have him very well trained.”

Of course Sherlock came through from the kitchen about then… “Was it a risk?” He didn’t sound tense, all that voice training and reading being put to good use.

“You really should thank me for the audio book work, Sherlock; it’s going to help you on cases so much.”

“Probably,” he said drily, “Was it a risk?”

Mycroft answered. “Yes.”

~

Sebastian came back and got let in and noticed immediately– whatever else Sherlock might say about the man, he wasn’t stupid.  Everyone was tense; everyone was quiet– Anthea wasn’t looking at him. “Right… what’s wrong?” he asked.

Jim just smiled at him, but it was his polite plastic smile and not one of his real ones, “Have some tea, Sebastian, and then we need to get to work.”

Sebastian looked around at everyone and sighed. He walked over to Jim and remarkably gracefully, with practiced ease, sank down to his knees next to him and put his head down against his leg. Sherlock found himself blinking rapidly as he tried to reconcile it.  He KNEW Sebastian was subordinate to Jim– and the implications of Jim breaking him, taking him down were there… but…

He glanced at Mycroft, who didn’t look even slightly surprised… _envious_? Sherlock shoved the idea out of his head and kept analyzing.  Anthea looked surprised, but not shocked: John looked shocked. Jim had actually startled, so he wasn’t doing well. After a pause Jim’s hand dropped onto Sebastian’s neck and he started rubbing little circles into it: Sebastian lost a lot of tension in his shoulders. Sherlock remembered the expert massage Jim had given Lloyd…

“Tiger… if we leave them lying around they’ll eventually wake up.” Jim was sounding gentle again, like he had… _when I was injured and he was being reassuring._

Sebastian grinned wickedly from his place on the floor, “Want me to go install a winch?” Jim actually laughed.

 _Wonderful, more inside jokes._ Sherlock looked at John who shrugged– but was looking rather alarmed at Sebastian. “Winch?” Sherlock asked.

Mycroft answered, “When Anthea and I arrived at the house and saw Bennison, he was being restrained by attaching him to a winch in the garage.”

“Suspension is an often used form of torture.” John said, sounding unhappy.

Jim laughed and patted Sebastian on the shoulder, “I actually had to stop using it with Sebie, I was terrified he’d tear out his shoulders after a while.”

Sherlock tried to study the reactions, but honestly John looked more upset than anyone else.

Sebastian glanced over at Mycroft and made the rather cryptic remark, “That’s when I got offered a choice of fire or water.”

Mycroft actually flushed and looked unsettled. “Oh.”

Jim raised an eyebrow, “That must have been a FASCINATING chat…”

Mycroft cleared his throat nervously, “We were going to be trying to interrogate someone?”

“Bennison mostly needs to be restrained.” Jim said with a shrug. “He’s just a practice dummy at this point.  It’s the fellow Sherlock identified as a spy that I’m concerned with, and we mostly need to know how much information he got out.”

Sherlock once again wondered if he’d done a good thing or a very bad thing.  Mycroft sighed faintly, “Sherlock is very good at noticing things that don’t add up, even if he doesn’t always come to the correct conclusion in the details.”

Sherlock stared at him, “Are you feeling well Mycroft?”

John stared back and forth, “Wait… do you mean to tell me that’s actually a compliment?”

“What else would it be?” Sherlock huffed.

Jim laughed, “If you haven’t noticed by now that the Holmes brothers are royally fucked up, you haven’t been paying attention– yes, that’s their version of a compliment.”

Jim hadn’t stopped rubbing Sebastian’s head and neck the entire time, but now he tugged gently on the man’s hair. “Up you go, Tiger; I need you to take those two downstairs.”

“Yes, sir,” he said as he got up. Sherlock was once again struck by the fact that for all of his size, and his strength, the man moved well. He picked up the spy and carefully put him over his shoulder– flickers of discomfort as he settled him; flogging recently, must have been fairly harsh…

John spoke up, “I want to see this room.”

~

As soon as John said it Sherlock tensed: Mycroft tensed as well, and John knew if HE could see Mycroft’s tells a lot more had happened to him than just being put in casual clothes and a collar.

“Of course, Johnny Boy,” Jim nodded, “Have Anthea and Mycroft take you down…do you think between the two of you, you and Mycroft could move Bennison?”

John suddenly realized the position he’d put Sherlock in and cursed himself for being so damned slow. Of course Sherlock didn’t want to go down there, but that would leave him alone with Jim.

“I’ll be fine, John.” Sherlock’s voice gave absolutely nothing away, and he realized what Jim had meant about the audio book work.

Jim sat back with his hands in his pockets, “well, wait just a moment and Sebie will be back up.” He then looked right at John and got an “I am thinking of something” look.  It was so obviously put on that John laughed.

“Yeah, that’s fake.”

Mycroft snorted, “Obviously.”

Jim shrugged, “Still… You and Anthea help settle Sebastian’s nerves… are you up to staying down there for the first round of interrogation?”

 _Oh shit, Ooooh shit…_ “I think I’d rather stay with Sherlock.”

“No, because Sherlock and I have some things to discuss privately.” Jim said calmly. “You can either go down with  everyone else, and hopefully that helps what with Sebastian and Mycroft being in the same room”– Anthea winced and Mycroft looked a bit green–“or you can stay here and make snacks in the kitchen or something.”

Sebastian came back up.  John looked over at Sherlock, “Are you going to be–”

“Fine. I’m simply not going downstairs again.” He said it calmly, but Mycroft looked away.

“Sebie? Sherlock and I have to chat.” Jim smiled at Sebastian and this time it looked positively warm, like when he smiled as Jim from IT or Richard Brook, “Go ahead and try some of the drugs, since we have a doctor on call– I’ll be down in a few.” He got up and sauntered off, Sherlock followed him. “Oh, Tiger?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“If the drugs don’t work out feel free to demonstrate some of the simpler techniques for Mycroft, won’t you?” as he went out of sight, John heard “FOR not ON, Tiger!”

Sebastian grinned back in that direction and yelled, “Couldn’t hear you!” and then laughed.

Anthea put her hand on Sebastian’s arm, “If you do anything–”

He reached over and dragged her into a kiss. John’s eyes almost bugged out as she bit him.  He was about to reach for a weapon when Mycroft just shook his head.

“I’m not going to bother Mycroft as long as he behaves himself, Anthea,” Sebastian said calmly to her, blood on his mouth.

“I’d have to do something.”

“And then I’D have to do something, or worse; Jim would,” Sebastian shook his head. “I’m fine.  The only way this could get better would be if Jim had a steak.”

“A stake?” John tried to ask calmly, he was pretty sure he failed.

“Yeah, Jim always fed me steak as a reward,” he shrugged.

_Oh, steak, not stake._

Mycroft cleared his throat, “There is a reasonably good restaurant not too far from here that does take out– I believe their steaks are acceptable.”

Sebastian picked up Bennison casually – he was a lot smaller than Mycroft after all– and they went down the stairs.

John– not for the first, second, or third time… wondered what he’d missed.

Mycroft, Jim, and Sebastian seemed to be… getting along? Well, for Mycroft anyway…

Jim and Sherlock were almost back to the mutual admiration society or something…

Anthea was standing around casually saying she was a sadist and biting people…

 _Mad, they’re all mad…_ John sighed and went down the stairs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stressful situations, discussions, and hidden clues  
> (TRIGGER WARNINGS FROM TAGS)

The spy was already stripped and restrained to the bed when they got down to the room.  John stared around trying not to go into shock. Sebastian took Bennison through into another room.

“You…” John took a deep breath. “This took a while to create.”

“Yes.” Mycroft was looking vaguely at a wall.

Anthea was mostly looking tight lipped. As Sebastian came back in she said, “John, you might not want to be here– interrogations are messy–”

“If they’re using drugs, you need a medical person on standby, and if I’m here I can minimize the damage.”  John said flatly. “There’s a good chance the man is innocent– or rather a spy for someone I would consider the law or something– and I’m obligated to minimize the damage if he is.”

“It’s possible,” Sebastian said with a distinct growl, “but unlikely, unless…” he glanced at Mycroft, “Unless he’s a third.”

“Third?” Anthea queried.

“Anthea? I need to have a bit of a CHAT with a few people, and I doubt you want to be here.”

“I’m not squeamish.”

“You’re damned defensive of Mycroft though.”

“Woah, I thought Moriarty said–”

“I know what he said.” Sebastian growled and turned away.

Anthea tensed and Mycroft snapped out, “Stand down, that’s an order.” Then considerably more gently, “I’ll be quite alright, for now, Anthea.”

“Smart.” Sebastian was smiling unpleasantly at Mycroft.  John felt like he was frozen in place just able to keep looking between the two.

“Is worth keeping.” Mycroft said as though it was… as though it was a two part code… John narrowed his eyes.

“What are you two doing?”

“Sebastian will want me restrained, since we are in my facility and near weapons.  He doesn’t trust me, for obvious reasons.  I expect he’ll want Anthea restrained as well–”

“Want? Yes: will? No.  If we end up going past drugs and into other methods it won’t be SAFE for her to be restrained in here– that would make her a target– unrestrained she’s safe.”

Mycroft walked calmly over to a drawer and pulled out a leg restraint, like they used for walking prisoners. “Will this do?”

Sebastian glanced at it and nodded at a ring in the floor.  Mycroft started getting out a length of chain.

“Uh… excuse me for being the only one NOT clued in to this Addams Family bonding exercise, but what the FUCK?”

“I’m a bit less than clear myself,” Anthea muttered, watching Mycroft warily.

Mycroft actually had a corner of his lip twitch up into something that looked suspiciously like a smile, “You’re not entirely wrong, Doctor Watson… it is a bit Addams Family-esque…”

“Wouldn’t that make HIM a target?” John waved at Mycroft calmly securing his ankles.

“No; Jim would be angry.” Sebastian shook his head, “but Anthea… reminds me of someone.”

“I what?”

“I hadn’t realized until just the other day,” he looked her over thoughtfully, “you’re hella prettier though, and I get the impression you’d do more than bruise my ribs and legs, even in restraints.”

Mycroft held up the keys, “If you expect my cooperation, I will remind you that Anthea is–”

“I’m not hurting her,” Sebastian nodded at John, “hand him the keys.”

“Who the hell do I remind you of? Your old dom?”

Sebastian grinned, and it was NOT a friendly sight, “No… she was another prisoner of Jim’s, way back in the day,” the predatory look faded off to be replaced by a melancholy one, “I liked her.”

“What happened to her?” John asked.

“I was new then: I hurt her.” Sebastian shrugged and clearly closed that line of discussion. “So before this bastard wakes up, we need to talk and if you breathe a WORD of any of this I will kill you slowly, and deal with Jim being upset later.”

“Talk about what? Hurting Mycroft?!” Anthea glared at him.

“No, the fact that I went to my knees for Jim in front of you all because not only did *I* need it, but he did.”

Mycroft snapped his head around and stared at Sebastian, “I beg your pardon?”

Sebastian’s jaw tensed, “You think I didn’t spend YEARS with him and not learn a few of his tells?”

“Truthfully, I was beginning to doubt he had any.” Mycroft sighed, “What do you mean?”

“Walking back in here? Using this room?” he waved a hand around, “you CRIPPLED him! Do you think he can just ignore it?”

Mycroft flinched, “It seemed that he was.”

“Yeah, well, he lies a lot.”

John looked around the room slowly, “No, he couldn’t.”

Anthea looked worriedly at Mycroft and back at Sebastian, “what did you see?”

Mycroft tried to make his mind process properly, “He’s used to Sebastian breaking people for him, he’s not used to seeing me do it.  His last recollection of me applying any kind of pain would be his own.” _He’d looked amused, unruffled, perfectly at ease– what had Sebastian seen that I hadn’t?_

“The point,” Sebastian growled, “is that we had a spy in our privileged employees, one that had managed to fool Jim– although he’s been busy lately– and had been getting in good with me. So that’s gotta be unsettling enough, and now we’re back HERE.”

Mycroft nodded, “Hence better to keep me in a less threatening position, I agree.”  Sebastian looked a bit startled, but nodded.

John sighed… This was getting ugly, and fast, and he had to put a stop to it no matter how much it bothered him.  “Mycroft, can you keep out of the prisoner’s view and still read him?”

“Yes.” Mycroft nodded at a small mirror, “That’s angled to allow that, in fact.”

“I can get answers out of him.” John said grimly, “or rather, I can get him rattled enough that you should be able to deduce him.”

He looked around at everyone, “Assuming all of you can act, and are willing to play along?”

*

Sherlock followed Jim out and up the stairs.  Tension flickered through his shoulders as he went up the stairs, probably from the pain in his feet, but he didn’t hesitate or stumble.

He didn’t use the hand rail either, which seemed foolish.

When they walked into Mycroft’s bedroom Jim stopped and looked around, “huh,” his voice sounded a bit vague, “Rather different décor– I was right about the bed, though.”

“What about the bed?” Sherlock asked.

“It’s a platform bed, no restraint points to tie him to.”

“You… tied him to his bed?”

“Yes,” Jim sounded even vaguer, still standing there rocking slightly on his feet with his hands stuffed in his pockets as he… hadn’t done in the entire time he’d had Sherlock prisoner.

He’d done it a lot before, done it on the roof, done it at the pool, but never…

Sherlock walked over and pulled Jim’s hand out of his pocket: It was shaking. Sherlock stared at it for a while and tracked up to Jim’s face: calm, faintly amused, eyes steady…

“Apparently being back here where this started kind of bugs me, who knew?” Jim said casually– voice bored and unaffected.

“It… isn’t doing wonders for me, either…” Sherlock said, noting that the tremors seemed to abate slightly with him holding Jim’s hand.

“So, remember what I said about you breathing a word about my pills?”

“I could use one myself, actually.”

“Good, because I don’t think I can get the cap off: left pocket.”

They both ended up sitting on the tile floor in Mycroft’s bathroom waiting for the pills to take effect.

“Sebastian is a lot smarter than he lets on.” Jim said out of nowhere several minutes later.

“I did wonder about the rather public display of submission.”

“He’s telling me he won’t hurt me and reassuring me that I’m still in charge– it’s sweet really.”

“Is he likely to… hurt anyone?”

“No.”

“Mycroft seemed rather of the opposite opinion.”

“Oh he might hurt MYCROFT, but not Anthea, and certainly not John.”

Sherlock blinked in confusion, “John is safer than Anthea?”

“John is a fellow soldier, and a doctor.  The military does rather drill it into your head that you don’t hurt the medic: besides he’s not sexually attracted to John– well no more than he is to anyone breathing.”

“He’s MORE likely to hurt…” _someone he’s sexually attracted to. And doesn’t THAT tell me a lot about the man._ “Ah, rape, yes of course.”

“He is highly unlikely to hurt Anthea in any case– she did let him play the dominant role and came out unscathed if a bit shaken– but I took him down rather hard and that settles him: I did offer to let you watch.”

“I’d… rather not.  I’m not a sadist.  I did actually appreciate seeing him subordinating himself  though,” Sherlock looked off at the wall thoughtfully, “If you were ever taking him down without HURTING him, like you did with Lloyd, I think I would be interested in watching.”

“He prefers it a bit rough,” Jim shrugged. “I’m usually only gentle with him after I’ve been… not gentle.”

“He isn’t rough with you though.”

“No, I trained it out of him.”

“Do you think you can train it out of Mycroft?”

“Oh yes.  It will be easier, in fact. Mycroft already has a masochistic streak.”

“He what?”

Jim looked over at him thoughtfully, “He has a taste for it.  I had to train and condition it into Sebastian– Mycroft LIKES it.  It just reflects a lack of control in his mind so he won’t admit to it.”

Sherlock sat back, his head thumping on the wall. “Damn.”

“He also was a virgin, so while he was sublimating his sex drive into the torture, it wasn’t ACTUALLY connected.”

Sherlock’s mind got locked on the problem despite himself, “Sebastian was already a rapist from what he said, so he already associated hurting people with sex…”

“Yes, once you tie orgasms to hurting people breaking that connection is nearly impossible,” Jim  was getting more animated as he  started to explain things, “Sebastian needs the sadism and its entangled with his sexuality; I just managed to recondition him to get the same rush off of masochism.  Mycroft needs the sadism but it isn’t sexual.”

“So the floggings and the sexual conditioning…?”

“Are already working on Mycroft better after just a few sessions than they did on Sebie after WEEKS of having him almost all the time,” Jim nodded firmly. “He’s already perfectly safe for YOU, darling, in fact for most people– it’s just me who’s still at risk.” He smiled faintly, “and truthfully even when he knocked me down last time he didn’t hurt me badly.”

“I thought he drew a knife on you?”

“Not at first, only after I started taking him apart verbally… he pulled it out of desperation; I kept talking and he dropped it and collapsed.” Jim looked down at his hand and held it out.  It looked steady. “Sadly, I will have to go down there.”

“I… I can try.”

“That’s sweet, Sherl,” Jim leaned over and kissed him– unlike most of Jim’s kisses it was a casual thing–“but no.”

They got up and spent a few moments straightening themselves out in the mirror.

“Oh, and Sherlock… you understand I want to condition him without breaking him…?”

“Yes, it’s why… yes, I understand that.”

“Stop talking about his weight, or poking him about food.” He said it as an order.

Sherlock blinked in confusion, “What? Why? I always have–” _that has nothing to do with any of this, does it?_

“He has an eating disorder and as fragile as someone is to psychological damage during conditioning? Triggering that could kill him.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

Jim came downstairs with Sherlock and found everyone sitting around the table with fresh tea. A quick glance at Sherlock– _Yes, he was seeing it, too_ –and he looked back: fresh tea, recently made, and they’d gotten out some of the liquor.

“Done already? I hadn’t thought we’d been THAT long.”

“John? Are you alright?” Sherlock was frowning.

Jim looked them over again: John looked tense, and tight and guilty; Sebastian was looking unhappy–that was about the spy–but impressed at John; Anthea was looking pleased; Mycroft had been looking at John like he was kicking himself for missing something.

“John does hide so well under his jumpers: it’s easy to forget that he’s dangerous,” Jim said pleasantly as though nothing unexpected had happened.

“Sir,” Sebastian stood up and ducked his head, looking very unhappy. “He is a spy.”

Jim raised an eyebrow, “Was that a question? Sherlock said so.”

Sherlock shot him that annoyed grateful look.

“As I said,” Mycroft said quietly, “I didn’t doubt his observations, but his conclusions can occasionally be a bit off. However, in this case he was entirely accurate: he’s with the CIA part of the time, although he appears to do mercenary work on occasion.”

Jim shrugged, “The question is, what information did he get out?”

“He managed to get out that you have a new computer expert who’s a rather drastic sub, and that you have a prisoner who was being chemically interrogated. His ability to get things out stopped as Lloyd closed security leaks.” Mycroft spoke in a calm, measured tone, “However, in addition to electronic methods, he had associates in your employees that he was using to pass information out: for some reason that hasn’t been possible, but we will need to find out who they are, and whether they are witting or unwitting accomplices.”

“Hmmm.” Jim sat back and started letting connections spin by. He distantly heard Sebastian say “Don’t interrupt him.”

~

Sherlock was watching John carefully: he looked like he felt guilty and sick. “John,” he said it quietly, “Please… you didn’t have to help interrogate anyone: Jim won’t hurt me.”

“It was just playacting and threats, Sherlock: he’s not hurt.”

“Then why… ?”

“Playing that kind of role makes me sick. I don’t like even thinking about it, especially not with everything… down there.”

Sherlock wasn’t certain he understood, but he took John’s hand since contact seemed to help comfort him.

…

“Julie,” Jim said suddenly.

“What?”

“Unwitting accomplice.” Jim sighed, “She’s not GOOD at interpersonal things... I’d be willing to bet he used her to carry information without her having a clue.”

“You’re not going to hurt her are you?” John asked in an alarmed fashion.

“Julie? Why would I… ” Jim trailed off. “Oh, honestly? Do you think I manage my network by hurting good employees?”

“I have no idea.”

“I will simply find out how he manipulated her, and make certain no one else can do it. We MAY be able to use any of his accomplices to round up further contacts, though, if we act quickly.”

Sherlock cleared his throat, “Can anyone tell me what happened?”

“John is a shockingly good actor,” Sebastian grinned. “Guess who has been secretly working for Moriarty the whole time, and is his chief interrogator?” Sebastian thumbed at John.

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at John, and John sighed and explained, “I figured we could play into the idiot suspicions Bennison had. I’ve been working for Moriarty the whole time, and, as a military doctor and interrogator, I’m obviously a terribly cruel man.”

~

Jim started giggling hysterically; eventually he was wiping tears out of his eyes. “And you managed to SELL that?”

Mycroft cleared his throat, “Surprisingly well, actually.”

Sebastian grinned, “I kept looking at him as if it was you and you were in one of your moods… ”

“Oh, I have GOT to see the video of THAT… ”

“Video?!” John yelped.

“Mycroft’s playroom is fully recorded: didn’t you know?”

“No...” John just winced.

Anthea smiled pleasantly, “I played John’s minion.”

“She means she took notes and fetched tools and used the proper names for some of the… things… that apparently we don’t actually HAVE in this house, for which I am eternally grateful.” John shuddered.

Anthea looked apologetic, “I’m sorry, you were doing such a good job of roleplaying that I forgot you don’t play… Lots of subs get off on the threat and the scare.”

Mycroft was doing his best to look blank, but Jim could tell he’d been intrigued and more than a bit turned on.

“I’ll definitely need to look over the recordings.”

“Please burn them when you’re done; I feel dirty,” John muttered.

“That’s because you haven’t a sadistic bone in your body, Doctor,” Jim smiled cheerfully. “You’d probably make a hell of a Dom, though.” Jim glanced wickedly at Sherlock, “You might try it sometime.”

John winced, “CAN we leave my nonexistent sex life out of this?”

Jim blinked at him, “Why? Everyone’s been talking… ”

~

John moaned and put his head down on the table; Sherlock patted at his shoulder in a worried fashion and then he glared at Jim. “LAST time you suggested anything, you were lying to chase us off and it caused all sorts of problems.”

Jim stared at him looking genuinely perplexed. “Lied about what?”

“Claiming that I was lusting after John.”

Jim looked wickedly amused suddenly. “I SAID you should go make out on the couch, and that you’d enjoy it–you eventually did, and you did.”

Sherlock started to protest and found himself flushing.

John sat up, “Can we please go back to the problem with the spy? We still need the rest of the information Mycroft couldn’t get just from me unsettling him.”

“You did an admirable job, however,” Mycroft nodded in a startling show of respect. “We got a great deal more quickly than I think we would have gotten from him by more traditional means.”

Jim shrugged. “Well, we have specific questions to dig for now.”

Sebastian made an odd noise that was halfway between a throat clearing and a cough, “So… are you keeping this one?”

Jim blinked and sat back. “Huh… I hadn’t thought about it–lots of other distractions today, after all.” He raised an eyebrow at Sebastian. “He was cozying up to you, Tiger, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Jim just swung a leg thoughtfully as he sat in the chair. “I’m not sure. He made a point of staying out of my way except when he was working, which is probably why I didn’t catch on… ”

“Keep him?” Sherlock asked. _Keep him? Like… Mycroft?_

_~_

“Smart is worth keeping,” Jim said idly, and John remembered the phrase on Sebastian and Mycroft’s lips.

“He’s apparently a sadistic son of a bitch who knew exactly what I was threatening to do for interrogation and torture,” John stated tightly.

Jim just smiled, “So were they,” with a nod at Sebastian and Mycroft. “Sadism can be… trained.” Mycroft looked even more blankly off at a wall; Sebastian just nodded.

John tried to make his brain fit around that and failed. “I don’t understand. You were HURT… ”

Jim tilted his head at him and glanced at Sherlock then looked back at John; he suddenly realized everyone else had gone very quiet and was either listening carefully or pretending not to.

“The question is whether he can be turned into someone useful,” Jim said exactly as though he were gently explaining the facts of life to a sheltered child. “If he’s just a simple sadistic sociopath, then he’s useless to me–no loyalty, nothing they care about–but otherwise? Well… he could be useful.” He glanced at Sebastian and then at Mycroft. “IS he a sadist or merely playing the role?”

Mycroft was looking at the ceiling in the corner, “He is. He’s also very intelligent, and has an excellent affect, but I suspect he is, as you put it, a sociopath. You would have to test that for yourself.”

Jim shrugged. “I’ll go chat with him. I need to find out who he’s using to courier anyway.” He got up and headed for the stairs down.

“Would you like an extra pair of hands, Sir?”

“Not needed, Tiger, but if I change my mind I’ll call. Eyes on.”

~

“Eyes on?” Anthea asked after he’d gone downstairs.

“Eyes on his six: watch his back.” Sebastian shrugged, “That’s you lot, right now.”

John frowned, “It’s three to one, I don’t see how he thinks–”

“No, it’s not,” Sherlock said very calmly, “because if you tried to do anything against Sebastian right now I’d stop you.”

John turned his head and stared at Sherlock with his mouth hanging open. Mycroft visibly flinched, even Sebastian looked startled.

“YOU would?” Sebastian asked, sounding VERY confused. Anthea had to admit she was stunned speechless.

“Yes,” Sherlock answered. “Jim knows it; Mycroft knows it; now the rest of you do. Please don’t force me into that position.”

Anthea started to ask and Mycroft simply shook his head.

“Care to fill me in?” John asked him.

“Not at the moment, but I believe we had something of this discussion before we had to evacuate the house.” Sherlock shrugged and looked at Sebastian. “If he keeps him? The spy? Then what?”

Sebastian collected his scattered wits, “Uh… We probably go put him someplace with a winch?”

“Are winches traditional then?” and when Sherlock raised his eyebrow and said it in THAT tone, Anthea suddenly saw the resemblance between the two brothers.

“Yeah, ever since I’ve known him. Like he said, he used it on me.” Sebastian shrugged. “Traditional would be someplace like the basement”–he nodded to the stairs–“only with way less torture equipment, plus a hose and winch.”

“Less torture equipment?” Anthea finally managed to come up with a question “He had a pretty damn well-stocked playroom at the house!”

“Yeah, but MOST of that’s for play. When the Boss is WORKING, he sticks to the basics.”

~

“He does… ?” Mycroft tried to sound uninterested; he was fairly certain he failed.

“Yeah.” Sebastian shrugged, “Generally speaking, if he pulls out anything much beyond a small quirt and restraints, it’s because of who he’s breaking–like if someone had a problem with sharps–or because it’s a speed issue.” He looked thoughtful, “If he just needs answers, not… not keeping anyone, he might get a bit nastier faster, but… ” Sebastian shook his head, “If he thinks someone needs a physical threat, that’s what he has me for.”

“You can’t break someone down like that with restraints and a quirt,” Anthea protested.

Sebastian just looked at her. “Mycroft,” he said tiredly, “other than me flogging you, has he ever HURT you?”

Mycroft couldn’t help but wince again, “Physically no, not as such–even being flogged didn’t hurt, per se.” He closed his eyes without being able to stop himself; he didn’t want to see Sherlock right now.

“Sherlock?”

“No,” Sherlock answered flatly. _No hesitation, no question: Jim never hurt him–physically; God only knew what he’d done to him otherwise._

“He hurt me plenty, but then I was a bit more aggressive… and most of the hurting was from a winch and a quirt.”

Anthea snorted, “You have some pretty intensive scars.”

He raised an eyebrow, “None of that was punishment.”

John glanced back and forth, “So… uh… I thought … I was getting the impression that everyone but Sherlock and myself were sadists of some sort, and especially Jim, but... uh... how is he a sadist without HURTING anyone?”

Sebastian just laughed, “Oh, if he wants to hurt someone he’s very good at it. Damn good at it–he taught me, after all–he just… ” Sebastian shrugged, “Ask him: he explains it better.”

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a while. Eventually John suggested eating something besides tea and Sebastian perked up and asked hopefully about steaks… and they ordered in.

They hadn’t even set the table when Jim came back up, looking exactly as he had when he went downstairs. _He hadn’t removed his shirt, or even rolled up his sleeves…_

“Sebie? If you want a new toy you can keep him for a bit, but otherwise he’s not interesting.”

Mycroft would have murdered someone to be able to deny the flash of relief that he wouldn’t have one more person taking Jim’s attention.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you need a trigger warning for extensive discussion of Harry Potter?

Sebastian tilted his head in a fashion that could only be described as predatory. “Toy?”

Jim nodded. “Unless you want to use him as a teaching tool?”

Sebastian’s lips curled up in a not smile. “We ordered steak…”

Jim laughed.

John sighed, “Okay… as the token muggle here, can someone explain this?”

Sherlock frowned, “Muggle? What’s a muggle?”

Jim started choking, “Sherlock! You CAN’T be serious?!”

Mycroft winced, “Even I know the term, Sherlock.”

Sherlock started to retort and Jim cut him off, “In a series of IMMENSELY popular books and a few movies, the term refers to someone who isn’t a wizard or from a wizarding family. Since the books focus on the wizards that makes them…” he got a peculiar smirk, “terribly Ooordinary, you know?”

“Slytherin.” John muttered.

“Naturally, and you’re Gryffindor,” Jim shrugged, “and Sherlock is Ravenclaw.”

Anthea raised an eyebrow, “Never picked you for a Potterhead.”

“I’m not; I despise the story.”

John stared at him, “But you know the houses and feel comfortable sorting people?”

Jim sat back, “Darling, if people want to voluntarily wear their innermost ambitions and traits they value on their sleeves for me to see, why should I discourage them?”

“What?” Mycroft and Sherlock said almost in unison, both sitting forward intently.

Jim cocked an eyebrow, “Really? I have to explain…?” a corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile, “Right… Defense Against the Dark Arts is now in session.”

“Of all people, YOU’RE teaching that?” Anthea couldn’t keep from blurting out.

“Why not? Most of the teachers were the villains– or at least working for them– and it’s long overdue to get a competent instructor.”

Sherlock was looking very frustrated, “So I need to read these books?”

“Well, it will be HIDEOUSLY painful, but the author is a linguist and throws in a lot of lovely puns and hidden nods, so it makes it tolerable.” Jim shrugged, “You can get MOST of what you need reading the fan sites and the wiki, but I expect that won’t do for you,” he smirked, “Ravenclaws always want the primary sources.”

“Damn!” John said suddenly, “I guess… yeah, Ravenclaw: why didn’t I see that?”

“Because you admire his brilliance but you assume everyone you like is in your house?” Jim shrugged, “You’re a Gryffindor with a lot of Hufflepuff traits, and it always shocks you silly when Sherlock doesn’t GET it, because its second nature to you.”

Mycroft was staring around the table oddly, “I suppose it would be a useful, if imprecise, short-hand.”

“Ahem… Defense against the Dark Arts.” Jim smirked again, “When people tell you their house, or wear their house insignia, they are NOT telling you who they are, but what they THINK they would LIKE to be.  These are not always the same things.

“Supposedly the primary traits of the houses are:  Gryffindor–bravery and daring; Ravenclaw– learning and intelligence; Hufflepuff– loyalty and some would say justice; and Slytherin– ambition and cunning. Obviously most people have traits that cross house boundaries so the question is: what is your primary motivation?” Jim smiled, “or more likely; what would you LIKE it to be.  Characters were often sorted into a house based on what they wanted to be, so if you truly admired bravery the most you would be sorted into Gryffindor even if you weren’t that brave.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “Then it’s obvious I would be in Ravenclaw, why would anyone think otherwise?”

“Because people expect others to value things the same way they do. John values loyalty and caring–Hufflepuff– but no matter how he might try to  say otherwise, given a choice between the adrenaline kick and boring  but caring work, he’ll pick adrenaline every time– so Gryffindor.”

“Err… not that I’m arguing your house sorting, it’s what I always ended up in, but it’s not how I would put it…”

“KNOWING that Johnny Boy is a Gryffindor, with strong Hufflepuff tendencies, I can easily manipulate him.”

“Hey!”

Anthea sighed, “It’s true, though.”

“This is a defense class, children, you can’t defend against the dark arts if you don’t understand it.” Jim’s smirk got positively gleeful.

“Now, since the supposed hero of this little fable is in House Gryffindor, a lot of people put themselves in that house without  thinking– that just means they want to be the center of the novel, usually because they aren’t.  Obviously if you KNOW that someone values attention, and feels neglected, you can use that.”

Mycroft murmured “Quite.”

“Knowing what people value tells you what they expect.  Now Molly–”

Sherlock hissed, “Leave her–”

“Calm down, Sherl, she’s simply a glorious example.” Jim tapped the table, “where was I? Oh yes, Molly is a CLASSIC Hufflepuff.  Loyal to a fault –and it IS a fault, because that’s why she lets people run roughshod over her– patient, kind, and doesn’t understand at ALL why other people don’t behave the same way. She doesn’t have any other house she COULD be in, dear loyal patient creature that she is.” Jim smiled slightly, “Of course it’s why I didn’t have a sniper on her.”

“What?” John blinked, “you didn’t?”

“No.” Jim shrugged, “Hufflepuffs are far too valuable a resource, especially Hufflepuffs that lack aggression.”

“I thought you just hadn’t known how much she meant to me.” Sherlock admitted.

Jim stared at him and then started laughing. Eventually he was lying on the table and Sebastian was worriedly patting his back.

Finally he wheezed, “Class break– teacher can’t breathe– oh GOD Sherlock don’t make me laugh that hard, I could break a rib!”

*

The steak arrived before Jim could stop laughing. To be fair he kept stopping and straightening up and then being set off into giggles whenever he looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock was about to say something when Jim glanced around and nodded slowly. “Sebie?

“Sir?”

“Get three plates.” He looked over at  Sherlock, “You can stay, or you can all go home, it’s the same to me– although if you stay I will expect violin music– but I need to have a bit of a dinner  and after dinner chat and you three aren’t invited.”

Sherlock considered.  _Jim needed to continue his work on Mycroft and didn’t want them watching– Mycroft unquestionably would prefer them to leave, but Jim… was in a house he’d been tortured in._

“I’ll stay. I believe Mycroft has a small extra guest room, it’s practically on the opposite side of the house from the other rooms– I can stay there.”

Sherlock caught a flash of gratitude in Jim’s eyes before it was lost under amusement and indifference. “As suits you, darling. Come along, Mycroft.”  Jim turned and walked off, picking up a bag on his way out. 

Mycroft looked warily at Sebastian and Sebastian shoved a takeout bag in his hands. “You heard him.”

Mycroft walked out being followed and shepherded by Sebastian.

“I don’t like this...” Anthea muttered.

“Mycroft wouldn’t want us to see him being put down; it’s rather considerate of Jim to take him out of the room.” Sherlock said quietly.

Anthea’s eyes widened and then she nodded, “oh… yes... well.”

John shrugged uneasily and they all unpackaged the food. Sherlock poked at it moodily and John promptly snapped, “EAT something!”

“I’m trying to.” He tried to put his mind on other things. “So… Slytherin is cunning and ambition?”

“Yes.”

“So both Jim and Mycroft.”

“Well, no… Slytherin were the bad guys…”

Anthea shook her head, “A lot of Slytherin house members were bad guys, but the house itself wasn’t bad.  It’s one of the problems with the books, that Slytherin as a whole house got represented badly.  There were a lot of problems, including the pure-blood sentiment–”

“The what?”

“The idea that pure blood wizards were better than wizards coming from mixed ancestry– sort of a parable for racism and classism.” Anthea shrugged. “One of the major characters, Severus Snape, was Slytherin and his redemption story was a big part of the books…” she trailed off looking pained.

Sherlock stared at her, “Since I don’t know the stories, I can’t figure this out, but you’re unhappy and drawing a comparison to my brother.”

John bit his lip. “Snape dies at the hands of the villain that he had followed.”

Sherlock frowned. “I will obviously need to read the books.”

*

Mycroft didn’t want to admit it but he was inordinately grateful that Jim had taken them out of the room. At the very least he’d be on his knees, and he didn’t think he could stand having them see him like that.  What perplexed him was the fact that Sherlock was staying.  _Apparently Jim had really done a good job convincing him that I was the threat and Jim was safety…_

_Even to the point of taking Sebastian’s side against John…_

“Whatever is biting you, Mycroft?” Jim asked them as they walked up to... his bedroom, of course.

“Sherlock.  You… have him rather well in hand, don’t you?”

Jim turned and sat on the bed. “Something in specific?” He nodded past Mycroft at Sebastian who started setting up a small folding table and putting out plates. “Strip.”

Mycroft just winced and took the clothes off– at least he could get out of these things and if he was VERY lucky he’d be able to wear his own clothes later.

Sebastian cleared his throat and Jim gave him an eyebrow quirk that must mean “go on”; they communicated so well… _Good God, this was his sniper and he could give him instructions without a word…_

“After you went downstairs, John pointed out– mostly out of frustration I think– that it was three to one against me.”

Jim just smiled, “I have great faith in your capabilities, Tiger.”

Sebastian half closed his eyes and… _did he PURR?!_

Mycroft spoke up, “Sherlock said it wasn’t three to one, since if John tried to act against Sebastian at the moment he would stop him.”

Jim smiled: it was a surprisingly soft smile for a moment. “Sherlock is both extremely clever and very sweet.” Then he went back to his usual smirk. “Kneel down here, face the door.”

Mycroft spared Sebastian a glance– at ease and curious– and knelt at Jim’s feet. “Why facing away?” He expected the reasons were not good.

From the sound of it Jim was getting into his bag. “Restraints.”

Mycroft sighed and tried to put his wrists together behind his back, but Jim stopped him, “Not like that.  Bend your elbows and put one wrist over the other behind you.” Jim guided his arms into position and then he felt rope coiling around his upper arms, his throat, and his wrists: in remarkably little time his arms were immobilized completely. A dangling rope was looped around his ankles and then he couldn’t move at all.

“Like I said,” Sebastian said, watching with a predatory gaze, “Boss likes restraints…”

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW Moriarty. oh yeah, and kknives

Mycroft found being fed steak while utterly, helplessly, restrained to be uncomfortably arousing.  The complete dependency combined with the feeling of the ropes, and the taste of steak and potatoes and butter… _Thank God none of the others could see me like this._

Sebastian had stripped after Mycroft was restrained, and was kneeling on the other side of Jim being fed– every time Jim rubbed his scalp the man melted a bit more.

Eventually the food was finished. Mycroft wondered if he was going to be flogged– _and I am NOT looking forward to that idea, I’m NOT_ – or just left secured in a corner until morning, when Jim started running his hands down Mycroft’s neck.  His fingers were skimming lightly over Mycroft’s shoulders, back, neck… a more extensive version of what he’d done before… and then Mycroft cursed himself as he realized:  _he’s reading the muscle twitches._

“Of course, Mycroft.” Jim said with an amused tone, and then he dug his fingers into Mycroft’s hair and pulled his head back. “As I told Sherlock, the mind is a wonderful thing, but it runs on chemicals…”

Mycroft was already getting a head rush, and the ropes felt strangely comfortable, and then Jim kissed him.  He couldn’t do anything, he was even more helpless than he’d been the first time but it was glorious. Jim simply kept Mycroft’s head pulled back and came up for air.

“Sebastian?”

“Yes, Sir?” Sebastian sounded a bit tense.

“Do you need to flex your claws a bit, or are you able to play nicely?”

Mycroft could just see the man out of the corner of his eye– his head was still pulled back a dizzying amount– he looked perplexed but faintly hopeful.

“Tiger,” Jim’s voice had changed– _threatening, sex, dominance_ – Mycroft was beginning to understand why people used phrases like “velvet over steel”,

“Tiiigerr,” Jim was almost singing now, “How long HAS it been?”

Sebastian inhaled sharply and looked at Mycroft, “Over a year, Sir.”

“So I’m asking you again, because I DON’T want to have to punish you… can you play nicely?”

Sebastian dropped to the carpet and crawled over to Jim, almost on top of Mycroft.  Mycroft was bewildered and terrified and he couldn’t get AWAY…

“I’m a VERY tame Tiger, Sir.”

“Good boy…Get the rest of my ropes… and my knives.”

Sebastian’s eyes lit up and he scrambled to the bag. Mycroft tried to think: _knives? But … Jim had despised his knife use as crude…_

“I… thought…” Mycroft was having trouble speaking with his head pulled back and the ropes. “You thought I was crude…”

“Oh Mycroft, darling, you are…” Jim purred down at him.

Sebastian came back with the bag and started carefully getting things out and setting them up.  There were hanks of rope and a fabric roll of packaged sterile blades and needles, as well as a couple of larger blades.  Mycroft started to panic and tried to control himself.

“Mycroft, I’m not going to do anything to you that you don’t absolutely adore…”

“Carving me up would be fair, but I doubt I would even tolerate it, much less adore it.”

“You’d be surprised…” Sebastian murmured and then said, “Sir?”

Jim let go of Mycroft carefully, letting his head up slowly; the blood rush as his head came back up almost blacked him out.

Jim had been speaking quietly to Sebastian and Sebastian untied him– apparently a simple matter of tugging on one loose rope end– and then pulled him onto the bed and held him.  Mycroft found himself practically in Sebastian’s lap facing him with the man’s hands locked around his wrists.

“Your bed may not have any restraint points, Mycroft darling,” Jim’s voice was dark and dangerous and it wound around his mind like a coil of rope. “But as you found out, I can restrain you to yourself…” Then he smiled and licked his teeth, “Or other… things.”

Mycroft found himself being roped by intricate ties to Sebastian. _Oh God, Sebastian was so strong…_ Mycroft started to retreat into his mind palace and suddenly there was sensation at his groin and at his neck dragging him back into his body.

“Running away, Mycroft? Do I need to flog you again?”

“No…” Mycroft was breathing raggedly wondering what just happened.

“Since you removed the restraint points, darling, I’ve had to improvise.” Jim guided them both to their knees, facing each other, arms laced together wrist to elbow– somehow  he’d created bindings that sat gently on his arms with rope bars held stiffly between them– and Sebastian simply spread out his arms and Mycroft was pinned like a butterfly. Sebastian was looking at him in an intrigued fashion– Mycroft closed his eyes.

“Lovely,” Jim breathed, “Such a picture…” and then Jim wiped Sebastian off with alcohol– the smell stung Mycroft’s nose bringing him back again– and he held up a blade, “Tiger?”

“Green means go, Yellow means pause, Red means stop,” Sebastian recited.

“And?”

“Green, Sir.” And Sebastian shivered.  Mycroft saw the naked wanting in his face, could feel it in his body– they were kneeling together almost sharing breath and touching… Mycroft swallowed and tried not to look down.

Jim took the blade and lightly drew it across Sebastian’s chest in a curling gesture that left the faintest thread of blood behind it. Sebastian groaned and threw his head back, baring his throat– Mycroft wanted to bite him. Jim smiled sweetly and finished a curling arc and another…

 _Jim.  He’d drawn Jim on the man’s chest, and it was so light and it probably wouldn’t leave a trace in a few days or a week but there was Jim drawn in Sebastian’s blood…_ Mycroft moaned: Jim chuckled.

Jim was behind Mycroft, leaning against his back, wielding the blade between them and it was dancing across Sebastian’s chest, sometimes just leaving a whisper of white, sometimes red. Mycroft felt dizzy, he didn’t know what he wanted anymore, but he was mesmerized and Sebastian was an open book of need, and want, and lust...

Jim reached across Mycroft gently and guided Sebastian’s arms– Mycroft found himself forced to follow–and Sebastian had his arms wrapped around Mycroft, and Mycroft had his arms behind himself, and they were pressed together and he could FEEL Sebastian’s blood smearing across his own chest…

Sebastian made a noise somewhere between a growl and a purr and started biting at Mycroft’s neck above the collar. Mycroft made a token attempt to struggle, but he couldn’t… couldn’t think… and then Jim leaned forward and whispered into his other ear, “Would you like to feel a blade slipping along your skin, Mycroft? Knowing you’re at my mercy, assuming I have any…”

*

John had insisted that the two prisoners needed to be tended to: Anthea volunteered to handle it. She came up after a while, smiling vindictively.

“Bennison is awake.”

“Ah.” Sherlock nodded. That explained the expression.

John frowned, “Does the spy, or McReady, or whatever his real name is, need medical? Jim went down there…”

“He… uh… didn’t look like he’d been touched, just seemed wary and happy to not have to piss his bed.”

John frowned, “I expected he would have hurt him.”

Sherlock sighed, “No need, you already rattled him and then ‘your boss’ the infamous and terrifying Jim Moriarty went in.” Sherlock paused slightly, “in any event, you two should leave.”

“What?!” John sputtered.

“Like hell,” Anthea snorted.

Sherlock closed his eyes– _they meant well_ –“John, you are already on edge and you already went off at Jim once. Anthea, Mycroft is going to be in a somewhat precarious situation and if you get too agitated you will make things worse.”

Anthea opened and shut her mouth, “Sebastian is calmer when I’m with him– Jim said so.”

Sherlock looked at her and didn’t even try to be gentle, “He has a new toy.  He’s going to be BREAKING that man and it’s going to be sexual.  You were already upset before and he didn’t hurt you: are you going to be able to deal with him in that situation?”

Anthea paled slightly.

John very firmly said, “All the more reason not to leave you alone with them.”

“John… there is very literally NOTHING you could do if they decided to harm me, BUT”– Sherlock kept talking as John protested–“you are a hostage, so is Anthea.  I will be much less vulnerable if I know that you are NOT here.” He tried to impress on them both how important this was, “Both of you… Mycroft will be better off if he isn’t distracted by worry about you, and I will feel better if I know you are safely back at the flat.”

John was considering and looking stubborn, Anthea said, “He’s supposed to be back by Monday.”

“Then I am sure he will be.”

John looked at him, “I want you to be HONEST with me Sherlock: are you safe here?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t even go down those stairs–”

“I don’t have to.”

“Are you going to be able to SLEEP?”

“You asked for honesty? I have no idea.” Sherlock admitted, “But it’s not that long until Monday, and then Tuesday I was already scheduled to leave.”

Anthea frowned, “To where?”

“I have no idea, Jim didn’t tell me.” Sherlock shrugged, “That assumes that THIS mess doesn’t change his schedule.”

“You’ll be safer if I go home?” John asked dubiously.

“Not necessarily, but I will be less ANXIOUS if you go home.” Sherlock admitted, “I won’t be spending so much of my energy worrying about you.”

Anthea nodded slowly. “Mycroft has all my phone contact information, but…” she gave Sherlock and John several numbers and emails.

John crossed his arms and looked firmly at Sherlock, “I want a promise– and if you break it I will be BEYOND angry– that if you are in any danger, trouble, or need help you will CALL me immediately.”

“I promise I will call you if it’s anything you can help with.”

“Not good enough; you will call me and let ME decide if I can help you.”

Sherlock sighed, “Fine, John.”

He got them a cab to Baker Street and closed and locked the door behind them, reactivating the security.

Jim had known the code.  Once again he wondered how, and remembered Jim’s teasing Mycroft about a price– _I wonder what the price to tell me would be?_

Sherlock took his bags to the small guest room and opened up his computer.  He might as well look up all of these references they kept talking about.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More decisions... a glimpse into Jim's mind... and a question

Mycroft was bound, on his knees, and restrained to Sebastian who held him pulled up against him.  He could feel the other man’s erection rubbing against his own and Sebastian was licking and mouthing at his neck… and Jim was talking: that was the worst best part.

Jim was murmuring suggestions and painting images in his mind, and he found himself wanting to find out... wondering what it would be like…

“You have such a heavy hand with a blade, Mycroft,” Jim was murmuring into his ear as he had one hand gently around his throat and  his other hand snaked down between  Sebastian and himself, “but with so many things a light touch can be far more devastating…” and Jim’s hand was slick and wet and he….

_Oh God he had his hand wrapped around Sebastian and me together!_

Jim started stroking and toying with them, and he felt Jim’s hand and Sebastian’s warmth and the blood on his chest and… Mycroft closed his eyes and moaned– Sebastian made a throaty noise that could have been a growl and his fingers dug into Mycroft’s buttocks.  Mycroft tried to squirm away, but Sebastian was hideously strong and from his knees he had no leverage… Jim just laughed.

“Since you’re new, Mycroft, I’ll let you make the choice: You can get put aside like you were the very first time, and just watch; you can let Sebastian fuck you while I play with knives on him; you can get restrained until you can’t move and I’ll use your mouth while Sebastian fucks me…” Jim purred into his ear, “Or I can hold you down and show you what I can do with a knife and when I’m done with you– if you’re still conscious– Sebastian will demonstrate how well I taught him to give a blow job.”

Mycroft opened his mouth and made no noise. _There is no good answer to this question._ He knew at some level that the sane answer was to be tied up and left alone while the two of them… did things… but he couldn’t…

“Fire or water,” Sebastian murmured in his ear and then he caught Mycroft’s earlobe in his teeth and tugged. “Decide or it’s decided for you.”

“I-I can’t…” Mycroft desperately called up his processing ability and analyzed… “What if I wanted something else?”

Jim’s hand was still stroking the two of them together slowly, “I might consider it, or I might just choose for you.”

_Option one was untenable, if he had to be untouched and just watch…. No._

_Option two was unacceptable, Jim wouldn’t be touching him and no matter how good Sebastian was…_

_Options three and four had Jim, but… knives…?_

“I would prefer option three, if I have to choose…”

Jim purred in his ear, “A good decision… you picked the one with the most restraint, and I did notice how much you liked dinner…”

_Oh bloody hell._

“So I’ll just have to demonstrate how very good at restraint I am…” Jim stopped stroking him and pulled away from his back. He started undoing the ropes binding him to Sebastian, while Sebastian kept him pulled in against him.

When Jim moved to put away the knives and get his ropes organized, Sebastian murmured almost inaudibly, “Good choice, but any but the first would be.”

Mycroft breathed quietly into Sebastian’s ear, “Only the last two were real options.”

Sebastian chuckled, “Oh I don’t know– you might like watching me bleed while you were being fucked.” said in a more normal voice.

 _Yes, but then Jim wouldn’t be touching me._  

~

Jim had Sebastian guide Mycroft’s arms and legs into position as he wrapped and knotted the ropes. Mycroft had practically gone under just from the ropes at dinner– Jim grinned as he plotted out how to maximize the effect.

Jim laced Mycroft into a pattern that immobilized his arms to his body and his wrists to his ankles, while creating a rope bar holding his legs spread apart.  The ropes were providing pressure, and some support, and sure enough; by the time Jim was done with his rigging Mycroft was looking glazed.

“You know, Tiger, we really do need a winch… Mycroft goes under so well in ropes that I simply must put him in suspension.”

Now that Mycroft didn’t need to be held for restraint– not that he’d put up any argument –Sebastian was watching with open curiosity. He looked at Jim and silently asked for direction.

“Option three: You get restrained until you can’t move and I use your mouth while Sebastian fucks me.” Jim pulled Mycroft practically back into Jim’s lap, “Of course I never said that was the ONLY thing that would happen.”

Mycroft clearly tried to be alarmed and failed. _God, I never pictured him as a rope bunny!_

“Tiger… Hold him while I get things warmed up….”

Jim watched Sebastian carefully at first, but he was being a very good Tiger.  The ropes were sending Mycroft under already, and as he had been beginning to suspect Mycroft had a bit of a strength kink to go with the restraint kink… Sebastian just holding him– the helplessness– was turning him on.

Jim grinned and started working Mycroft open.

“You…” Mycroft shook his head as much as he could to clear it, “Why?”

“Just lie back and enjoy it Mycroft.” Jim said with a smirk, “Sebastian? Give Mycroft a bit of a hug, will you?”

Sebastian didn’t quite GET it at first, but he did as he was told: Mycroft’s breathing picked up. Jim saw when the realization hit Sebastian’s face and the amused predatory look was a treat. Sebastian shifted his arms and legs and coiled himself around Mycroft–adding another layer of warm and breathing restraint– while Jim worked gently with his fingers.

“Mycroft…”Jim said it as softly as he could, breathing gently into his ear, “I asked you before you had your silly temper tantrum: what do you want.  Shh… Shhh… don’t answer yet, but I suggest you think about it.”

Jim pushed the vibrator into him and turned it on.  Mycroft’s eyes widened in panic and he started to say something; Jim cut him off with his mouth over his. Jim pulled his head up enough to smile over Mycroft’s shoulder at Sebastian. “Your turn to be on top, Tiger.”

Sebastian helped put Mycroft down into the bed and Jim lay between his legs, biting and kissing his mouth: Jim could just feel the vibrations as their bodies were pressed together by Sebastian climbing on top. Jim looked down into Mycroft’s eyes and then spoke oh so very quietly into his ear as Sebastian started putting his fingers to work.

“Being crushed under the two of us, unable to move or struggle, must just be….” He smiled into Mycroft’s neck, “Terrible…. Or something.”

Jim picked his head up and moaned happily as Sebastian started hitting the right places. “That’s a GOOD Tiger…”

~

Sebastian leaned down and Jim turned his head to meet him with a kiss. _Mycroft’s eyes were enormous and already blown black and they’d barely done anything!_ “Do you mind if my hands wander a bit?” He asked when Jim broke off the kiss.

“Oh by all means, Tiger, you two need to get acquainted…” he smirked, “As long as you always remember who comes first.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but laugh; “You usually want to come last,” Sebastian mouthed gently at his shoulder and then growled as he felt scar tissue under his tongue.

Jim reached back and stroked his hair, “It’s healing, Tiger, and I have the plastic surgeon later this week. Just make me feel good.”

Mycroft, that bastard, tried to say something and Jim went back to kissing him.

“Tiger…” Jim’s voice was a warning.  Sebastian grumbled and went back to working him open with his fingers and doing everything he knew Jim liked.

Eventually he pushed into Jim, carefully, slowly, and let his hands stroke and rub at Jim the way he’d been taught.  When he was fully sheathed inside him he laid his head gently on him and licked his neck. 

Jim reached back and petted and pulled at his hair, “It’s alright, Tiger. Come on,” he could hear Jim smile, “let’s see if you can make me lose control.”

“I never have yet,” Sebastian grinned, “Bastard.” And he started moving, setting up the slow steady rhythm that Jim liked best.

“First time for everything,” Jim said with his head thrown back into Sebastian, and then he lowered his head to Mycroft and you could hear the growl, “Isn’t there…”

~

Mycroft came undone for the first time just from the restraints, the vibrator, Jim’s mouth on his, and Jim rubbing against him– or more accurately being thrust against him– every time Sebastian thrust into Jim. While he was still gasping against Jim’s mouth– humiliated that he wasn’t even permitted the privacy to try to pull himself back together– Jim reached back and pulled Sebastian into another kiss, this time almost against Mycroft’s mouth.  Sebastian’s weight settled more onto them and Mycroft was pinned, heavily, into the bed. Sebastian’s hands roamed over Jim, and Mycroft.

Jim was rolling his hips and rocking his body gently between the two of them, slowly driving Mycroft mad.  Sebastian was resting his head against Jim, and Mycroft, and Jim would slowly alternate kissing and licking at them both. Mycroft felt horribly safe and secure, with their weight pressing him down, but oh dear God he wanted more…

 “That was lovely, Sebie, thank you…” Jim murmured into Sebastian’s lips, and Mycroft could feel every flutter of air against his own.  He realized that Sebastian had come, then, somewhere during the time Mycroft couldn’t pay attention to anything past Jim’s lips and his own body. 

 “But now it’s well past time to pick up the pace…” Jim purred. Sebastian’s lips curved up and he braced himself on his arms…

And Jim started moving with him, against him, Sebastian slowly moving to sheath himself in Jim again.

“Please…” the word escaped his mouth before he realized and he looked up at Jim quickly to see if he’d heard– he had.

“Please what, Mycroft?” Jim’s voice had that dark amusement that made Mycroft want desperately to hold him down and make him scream…

Mycroft thought of denying it, thought of refusing to answer, thought of hurting him and being hurt by him and a hundred other things before most people would think of one, and narrowed it down to only one option: “More…”

Jim smiled, dark and dangerous and Mycroft realized then with utter certainty that he had lost some time ago, and there was no coming back, ever.

“All you have to do is ask, Mycroft,” Jim’s voice was soft and dark, “let me take you apart…”

“You already did.”

Jim kissed him again, and then the vibrations stopped, and he was empty, and then Jim was filling him deliciously slowly.

“And let me put you back together,”

Mycroft gasped as Jim moved, and Sebastian moved, and they were all intimately connected… “I don’t… think…I’m repairable…”

Jim laughed, “Repairable?” and he did something that settled him perfectly into Mycroft and when they both moved Mycroft stopped thinking entirely and was a fixed point of light and contained energy.

“I own you… why would I want… to repair you when… I could make something new….” Jim was breathing a bit more raggedly and there were tiny tremors in his voice.

Mycroft came back from his orgasm in time to see Jim’s. It was for a brief moment like watching the stage dressing fall away and seeing what was REALLY behind the curtains, not the actor playing the wizard, but the stage set itself…

Jim loved him: he’d told the truth; he loved him and he was going to hurt him and remake him– had in fact. Jim’s love was a twisted and broken thing, forged in whatever abuse and pain he’d suffered before Mycroft ever met him. Jim’s interest was terrifying– his love was as devastating and destructive as a tidal wave: it obliterated and changed wherever it struck.

Jim was afraid of him, afraid of Sebastian, afraid of so many, many things; and he danced on that edge and challenged himself to control his fears– and keep them, make them his weapons. Frightening Jim was the fastest way to find yourself dead, or in a collar on a leash… he’d made that likely in interrogation, and made it a certainty when he’d tortured him.

Jim’s eyes regained their control and Mycroft found himself transfixed as Jim looked at him, looking at Jim…

“You and Sherlock… the only two who ever could match me…”

Mycroft started to plead for Sherlock’s safety and the last piece fell into place… “He isn’t in any danger.” Mycroft marveled.

“Why would he be? He was always only playing a game…” Jim smiled and Mycroft became distantly aware of Sebastian’s hands moving over them both. “I admit I was angry at him for his part in my stay in your cells… but we’re past that.” Jim leaned down and kissed the air out of him and then murmured in his ear, “How much did you enjoy watching him as he dried out from the drugs; pleading and screaming and begging…”

Mycroft gasped as if he was knifed, and he would have killed himself in that moment if he could have moved.

Jim pulled himself free, and rolled over to his ear– poison and honey– “He told me, you know, told me how you were there with him strapped to a bed so much like the one in your basement, and how much he wondered, now, if you enjoyed it…”

“Stop, please… please stop…” _because he had enjoyed it: hated it and enjoyed it and it haunted his dreams and tortured him when he spoke to Sherlock…_

“So you want me to punish you for it, my poor fallen angel?”

“Yes.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

“Sebastian? Help me change out Mycroft’s restraints, and then you’ll want to go get tea– or play with the toy.” Jim said it calmly but Sebastian could see the intensity in his eyes and the way his muscles shifted– this was when Jim actually put that brain to full use: figuring out how to take people apart.

Sebastian, quite relaxed right now, nodded, “Yes, Sir,” and dragged Mycroft into something like a hug while Jim undid the ropes. _So Mycroft had a strength kick, huh?_ Jim had noted it first– God knows they had used it enough on their various partners… Sebastian wrapped himself around Mycroft and leaned his head up against him holding him in place.

 _I wonder what Jim had been saying to him?_   Because he went from “Jim’s sex toy” to some mutters about Sherlock, to collapsed and shut down really fa– was he CRYING? _Holy shit…_

~

Jim hated working without proper tools.  Ah well, at least he had the basics. He finished undoing the ropes and checked– _no, Mycroft wasn’t going to bolt if Sebie let go, too wrapped up in his own head._

“Sebastian? Can you pin this end of the rope under the bed please?” Jim got off of the bed but left Mycroft on it– the look on his face when Sebie lifted the bed enough to slide the knotted rope end under it was beautiful.

“Thank you, Sebie.” Jim smiled and petted his arm. He smirked down at Mycroft, “I wouldn’t normally NEED to do that, but I’m not at one of my houses.”  He had Sebie on stand by and then he started re-doing Mycroft’s rigging.

“In case you were wondering, Mycroft, I won’t punish you with that kind of restraints– that’s for fun.” He had Mycroft put his hands over head and knotted a solid pair of rope cuffs with a slight bar, making sure Mycroft couldn’t get out of them but wouldn’t lose circulation– his hands were now  locked to the head of the bed unless he could move  the rope out from under it.  Jim then took his spare rope and rigged a hobble around Mycroft’s thighs, right above his knees.

“There we go, simple but effective.” Jim smiled and got out his personal quirt.

~

Mycroft watched as Sebastian used the platform bed itself as an anchor point at Jim’s suggestion.  It had never occurred to him that you could even… He kept forgetting how strong Sebastian was.

Jim had said the fancy rope ties were not for punishment– which made sense, he supposed, given that he apparently slipped into some kind of drug like haze from them: it would certainly make “punishment” a moot point. Instead he found Jim replicating the spreader bar for his wrists (if slightly less spread) and then hobbling his thighs.  This confused him as he would have expected Jim to tie his ankles, finishing the similarity to the spreader bars of their first encounter.

While Mycroft was trying to analyze and predict, Jim got out a small object, like a pointer or– given the recent discussions of Harry Potter– a wand. Mycroft’s catalogue of “things that cause pain” finally decided it was a small flexible rod, or quirt– it looked light, though, far lighter than anything they used in interrogation.

Sebastian took one look at it and dropped to his knees: hands on his thighs, head down.

Mycroft startled badly at that; and then while Jim reassured Sebastian and sent him out of the room he flashed back to the conversation downstairs:

“When the Boss is WORKING, he sticks to the basics.” Sebastian had said. “A small quirt and restraints”…

Anthea’s protest: “You can’t break someone down like that with restraints and a quirt,”…

Sebastian’s statement, “He hurt me plenty, but then I was a bit more aggressive… and most of the hurting was from a winch and a quirt.”…

Based on Sebastian’s reaction that little plastic switch was more to be concerned about than Jim cutting into him with a scalpel…

“You’re thinking too much, Mycroft.”

“A chronic problem,” he managed to answer, “Only turned off by some of what you’ve been doing– or hospital level medication.”

“Hmm.” Jim just smiled very faintly. “I’m going to do something I don’t normally do, Mycroft love… I’m going to tell you what I’m doing, and why it’s going to work– mostly because you and your brother have more defenses around your minds.  If I’m going to get in there and make changes it either requires a bit more preparation or a bit of cooperation.”

Mycroft listened to this with a degree of alarm, “And I’m to cooperate?”

“You asked to be punished, Mycroft… I can PUNISH you easily enough without your help, but I think what you REALLY want is to get the image out of your mind– or at least stop liking it so much.”

Mycroft flinched, “I’ve tried.”

Jim sprawled on the bed next to him and licked his ear, “I’m better at it.  Depending on how well you take to the method, will determine how long it takes, but by the time we’re done? Contemplating hurting Sherly, or even thinking about him in those circumstances, will do nothing at all for you.”

“I’ve tried for years…” Mycroft could scarcely believe he was admitting this, but Jim had somehow gotten under all his defenses.

“Pick one of the images– let’s start with the one from drug rehab– I want you to bring it up in your mind, Mycroft… allow it to absorb your attention… You can’t act on it– you’re in restraints and I’m here– I WON’T let you hurt him…”

Mycroft didn’t want to but Jim described it lovingly and it flooded up into the front of his mind– before too long he was lost, remembering Sherlock writhing and pleading… his voice… he was so sick, he needed me, he needed to be restrained… he’d marked up his arms…

There was a sound of disapproval– tcht!– and sudden slashing pain across the bottom of his foot.

*

Sebastian came up after playing with his new toy for a while– and having a nap, to be fair.  Listening to McReady trying to pull the “but we’re friends!” card had been infuriating at first… after a while it was funny.

Of course it didn’t take too long for that to give way to threats and attempts to bribe him or convince him to change sides. That was the really insulting part; if he didn’t know how loyal Sebastian was then he really hadn’t gotten to know him at all.  Sebastian had spent some time explaining just how badly he took that.

He’d taken a shower down there so none of the mess would upset anyone and found out Bennison had already pissed himself.  Right, no soundproofing between the various areas of the cell, it was only built for one after all. Sebastian didn’t touch him, just made a point of flexing muscles as he washed up– the guy was cowering in a corner, GOD he  was pathetic.

Anyway, breakfast.

He expected Anthea or John to come in, not Sherlock, but there he was standing in the kitchen doorway, fidgeting.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Sebastian  said, “Tea is ready to go, pancake batter is all set, found some fruit and some other stuff–your brother doesn’t keep a lot of breakfast makings on hand.”

“There were enough eggs for the four of us.”

“Four?”

“I sent Anthea and John home.”

Sebastian turned and looked at him, “Why?”

“They were getting more agitated, and more tense; the odds that one of them would try to intervene were becoming unacceptably high.” Sherlock looked at him, you could almost see the analysis, “I also suggested that Anthea would be unable to deal with you as well after you dealt with your new toy; I believe I am correct.”

Sebastian flinched, “Yeah, probably.  She’s… she’s fun, but…”

“Isn’t excited by actual abuse.” Sherlock finished.

“Right. Just… aggressive play.”

“Add in her being concerned about Mycroft?” Sherlock walked over and started assembling breakfast for himself trying not to look wary of Sebastian– he did a decent job, all things considered.

“I’ll get the pancakes started: Jim is either up early or sleeps ‘till afternoon, and given how busy we are right now…”

A sleepy voice called out, “Sebie?”

“Kitchen sir! Pancakes in five.” Sebastian turned to Sherlock, “Go keep him company…have you dealt with him first thing?”

“No?”

“Oh Jesus… just take him his tea or coffee and don’t start anything.”

~

Sherlock went out to find a rather disheveled looking Jim sitting at the table. He really looked nothing at all like the polished and tailored Jim Moriarty he normally looked like; he looked… like someone woke up a college student, or one of the computer geeks…

“You…err… tea?” Sherlock said holding out his tea.  Jim took it without much comment, and started sipping it with a look of near adoration.

“Is… Mycroft coming down?”

Jim shook his head after a moment, never looking up from the tea.

Sherlock tried to look him over… “Didn’t get much sleep?” he asked.

Jim held his cup out sort of blankly… Sherlock finally placed the posture and expression as “not really awake” took the cup and went back into the kitchen.

“He’s sleep walking?” he asked Sebastian hesitantly.

“Might as well be.” Sebastian shrugged. “He gets all intense for too long and doesn’t get enough sleep and then he crashes. But he won’t LET himself crash, so…”

Sherlock got the refilled tea and muttered, “Sounds familiar.” He gave the cup to Jim and sat down with his own food.  After a short while Sebastian came out with pancakes and put down three plates.  Sherlock noted that he made no attempt to talk to Jim, just refiled his tea and apparently started him eating by putting a fork in his hand and stabbing a pancake with it.

“When does he wake up?”

Sebastian shrugged faintly. “After he’s done thinking, had enough caffeine, or I give him a blow job I guess.”

Sherlock coughed, “That… is that normally needed?”

“No, he doesn’t normally get this over worked.” Sebastian shrugged again.

“Is… Is Mycroft alright?”

“He was when I left to go play with the toy.  He should be.”

Jim abruptly spoke up, which startled both of them, “He’ll be fine, just sore as hell– on the other hand I suspect getting rid of any lingering interest in hurting you is going to be remarkably easy.”

“Oh?”

Jim looked up– much more of his usual sparkle in his eyes, although he still looked more like “Richard Brook” than Jim– “Well, he really doesn’t WANT to want to hurt you, so he has some incentive to cooperate.” Then he grinned wickedly, “And it’s fun for me, too: win-win.”

Sherlock resolved to NOT ask no matter how much his curiosity was killing him.

“Where are the other two?”

“I sent them home, they were getting too agitated and it was too risky.”

Jim raised an eyebrow, “probably for the best.” He nodded. “Sebie? How are things downstairs?”

“Toy annoyed me, so I may have gotten a bit rough, but the medical kit down there is decent: Bennison peed himself a lot, so I washed him up.”

Jim nodded thoughtfully. “Feel up to starting Mycroft on his lessons today? Sherlock did promise me a concert.”

Sherlock glanced at Sebastian, “Is that safe?”

Jim smiled faintly, “Yes.”

“Will Mycroft be coming down, then?”

“Yes, Sebie and I will bring him down after I feed him, but I would advise you to be out of sight when he does.” Jim nodded, “Once I get that settled I’ll let you know and you can set up for violin.”

Sherlock nodded. “I take it there is no problem with my contacting John?”

“Not at all.”

Sherlock got up to leave the table and paused, “I had assumed that I was still needed for Tuesday, does this incident change the schedule?”

“Not a bit.” Jim looked thoughtfully at Sherlock, “I have a party to go to, and you’ll be useful; after that I have an appointment with a plastic surgeon and you can generally go explore the city as long as you keep your mouth shut and are careful.”

Sherlock blinked a lot, “So not London; I assume Sebastian will be–”

Jim and Sebastian both shook their heads, but Jim answered, “Sebastian shouldn’t come.  One of his earlier projects lives there and she gets nervous around him– besides on the way back I may check in on Jeffries.”

Sebastian perked up, “Are you certain you don’t want me to meet you sir?”

Jim smirked, “I’d like to see how he’s doing without watching his heartrate jump that high.”

“Jeffries?”

One of Lloyd’s and Mycroft’s co-workers– former co-workers– he used to be their profiler.” Jim sighed, “In an ideal world I would take Mycroft with me, but he has work to do.”

“Won’t you need a guard?” Sherlock frowned, trying to figure out how this would work. “Especially if you’re talking about surgical recovery.”

“Yes,” grumbled Sebastian.

Jim suddenly sat up, “why…. YES, I should take a guard… I mean more than the idiots that I already have on standby… how kind of you to volunteer him, Sherly!”

“Volunteer him? What?” Sherlock looked at Sebastian who shrugged with a “no clue” expression.

“Call John and tell him to pack for Tuesday; we can buy most of what he’ll need when we get there.” Jim smiled happily, "You get company and i get a guard and medical: that's brilliant."

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter seems a bit peculiar, it's because most of it is from Mycroft's POV and his brain is all melty

Mycroft woke up feeling disoriented and for a moment couldn’t remember where he was. The resulting panic and adrenaline from said mental lapse, however, caused his memories to flood back into place with their usual alacrity. After sorting the memories into something approximating sequential order, he almost wished he had remained in ignorance just a touch longer–the sex had, in fact, been better than before, and he was going to be unable to put his feet down for quite some time.

 _The sex… That had been… How did it get BETTER?_ Mycroft curled up into the covers that still smelled of sex and sweat, remembering ropes, and Sebastian and Jim… Jim had said it would get better with practice, and Mycroft was very much afraid he was right. Even if he had the opportunity to get away, he was reluctantly admitting he would come back just for that. He began to understand his brother’s addictions just a bit better.

The thought of his brother, and addictions, brought to mind Jim’s whispered reminder of why his brother was afraid of him now. Mycroft tried to muffle any sounds into a pillow but his feet throbbed with the memory of Jim’s punishment. Sebastian had been right: Jim didn’t need anything but restraints and a quirt, and Mycroft was once again reminded of his own amateur status.

He had in fact asked to be punished, and Jim had correctly concluded that mere punishment wasn’t what he needed: as painful as the experience was–albeit unlikely to have caused any permanent damage–he had to admit it seemed likely to work. Having a stinging blow to the bottom of your foot in response to any thought about Sherlock–his mind brought up a hazy image of Sherlock in rehab and immediately shunted it aside in remembered pain…

_Wait…_

_Replay thoughts…_

His mind shied away again.

Mycroft lay staring at the ceiling. _It had worked._ He had accidentally thought about… that… and had shied away from it instead of falling into it. _It had WORKED._

He hardly noticed when the door opened; it was Jim’s amused voice that brought him back.

“I let you sleep in, Mycroft, you should thank me.”

Mycroft looked over as Jim crawled into bed and sprawled on top of him while Sebastian set up a tray of… _pancakes?_

“Thank you,” Mycroft said reflexively and then looked up at Jim’s amused smirk. “It worked…”

“Ah? Well, I did think you responded beautifully, Mycroft love, but I take it you tested the aversion?”

“Accidentally.”

“Mmm.” Jim nodded at Sebastian, who pulled Mycroft upright with about as much effort as scruffing a small kitten; Jim moved into his lap. “Sebastian made pancakes.”

After a faint pause, Mycroft managed to say, “Thank you, Sebastian, that was very considerate–they do smell quite tasty.”

Sebastian–who seemed very relaxed–grumbled, “I would hope so. Getting Jim to eat on a regular schedule is a difficult feat.”

Jim started feeding him forkfuls of a truly delicious breakfast.

~

Jim had tried very hard not to smirk when he came in and found Mycroft still clearly debauched and not even trying to leave the bed, but he rather expected he failed. Mycroft was then delightfully polite and even voluntarily admitted that the conditioning had been tested accidentally–and held.

And then he accepted hand feeding without restraints…

“Sebie? I’ve been thinking…”

“Always dangerous,” Sebastian said immediately and chuckled.

“While I’m away, you should work with Mycroft and see if any of the rooms here can be set up as MY kind of playroom. I rather liked our threesome and I want a bit more equipment and better restraint points…”

Sebastian perked up immediately– _and yes, so did Mycroft._

MYCROFT immediately spoke up, “Just for… us? Or for prisoners?”

Jim couldn’t keep the grin off his face at all, gave up, and pulled Mycroft’s head back by the hair and kissed him–he tasted of butter and syrup and, after a slight hesitation, brought his hands up around Jim and kissed back.

“You only keep your hands down if I tell you to, Mycroft; otherwise, you need to learn to use them a bit better.” Jim marveled at how pliable he was right now: it wouldn’t last–Mycroft was far too controlling not to backslide–but it was a treat for the moment… _Hell, better take advantage._

“Tiger?”

Sebastian snapped his head up and looked interested, “Sir?”

“Think we can put off interrogation classes just a bit?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Pounce.”

~

Sebastian knew the smart ones either shattered to pieces–because they wouldn’t adapt–or tamed down fast–because they did. Jeffries was one of the smartest men he’d ever worked on for Jim, and the man had struggled beautifully, but he’d recognized his odds and surrendered fast. _Mycroft, though…_

He’d seen Jim work and Jim had explained how much any natural submissive or masochistic tendencies influenced that–hell, once he was taught he’d used it enough–but he still never expected to see Mycroft accepting punishment from Jim without complaint, and being petted and hand fed the next morning.

 _Go figure._ Sebastian was mentally planning on the work on Bennison–and playing with Toy a bit more, honestly–when he suddenly heard Jim’s voice shift.

“Tiger?” Jim’s tone promised sex and maybe blood.

Sebastian said, “Sir?” and looked Jim over: _Yes, sex definitely; blood, maybe._

“Think we can put off interrogation classes just a bit?” Jim’s voice was getting more teasing and his eyes targeted Mycroft for him.

“Yes, sir.” _Oh, HELL yes, Sir._

“Pounce,” Jim said and rolled away from Mycroft.

Pounce, of course, meant keep the claws sheathed until told otherwise, but given that Mycroft had a strength kick–and seemed to like the adrenaline–Sebastian didn’t hold back on the action. He was on him before Mycroft had reacted to Jim rolling away. Sebastian was grinning down at a wide eyed Mycroft, pinned down by body weight and a grip on both wrists, and sure enough the first twitches of interest were becoming obvious against his thigh even as Mycroft’s heart was beating like a rabbit against Sebastian’s chest…

“Now, isn’t that a pretty picture…” Jim rolled back over and was propped up on his elbow looking at the two of them–he was texting or something with his phone–“Makes me want to do all sorts of naughty things.”

“Yes, Sir.” Sebastian didn’t hear any warning in his tone so he started kissing and biting at Mycroft. Mycroft started struggling a bit, but he kissed back– _ah, trying to get control back_? Sebastian started working his way down Mycroft’s neck and saw Jim move out of the corner of his eye: he was retrieving the rope tether…

Sebastian moved his grip down Mycroft’s arms–when Mycroft felt Jim’s hand, and the rope, he stopped struggling. _Mycroft was very, very smart._

“You wait until we have some good restraint points,” he growled quietly into Mycroft’s neck below his ear: Mycroft’s breathing picked up. _Damn… A sadist who was into subbing this much_? Sebastian smiled sharply and picked up his head to watch Jim working the ropes down Mycroft’s arms.

“Sir?” He grinned and let the predator out a bit more. “Should I show him what a well-trained Tiger can do?”

Jim smirked, “Keep the claws sheathed, Tiger, but… sure, show off a bit.”

Sebastian slid down Mycroft’s body to a better positon and moved him more fully onto the bed–no reason to be uncomfortable. _Yeah, he was already hard and paying attention…_ Sebastian licked his chops at him for effect and went to work.

~

_If anyone had ever told me that I would happily let Moriarty hand feed me, much less anything else he’s been doing, I would have called for a psychiatric evaluation._

When Jim had started talking about a playroom, and Sebastian had been talking about restraint points, it distracted him badly–badly enough that he missed every clue up to the point that Jim said “Pounce” and rolled away. He had just begun to react when he was pushed into the bed, his wrists captured, and arms already held overhead. He started to struggle simply out of reflex and looked up into a frankly sexual predatory look from Sebastian. Memories of last night flooded back and Jim’s comment about doing things made his head spin…

He felt Jim’s hands and a rope and relaxed without meaning to… _This kind of rope tying is for fun_ … Sebastian and Jim agreed to let him do… something... to him, and then he was moved onto the bed more fully, and Sebastian actually licked his lips, and it shouldn’t be that damnably terrifying and attractive and Jim was still doing ornate things with ropes that kept getting tighter…

And Sebastian held his hips and swallowed him as Jim tightened the bindings across his chest and laced ropes across his legs…

Mycroft’s body was clearly following its own agenda. Sebastian was almost as good at this as Jim– _naturally, Jim had trained him_ –and Mycroft’s mind kept stuttering and refusing to be dragged away from the ropes and his crotch.

Sebastian did something slow and teasing with his tongue and Mycroft tried to thrust up… and realized he’d been completely immobilized when he was distracted.

“So, Mycroft…” Jim’s voice was very dark, and he chuckled, and that was BAD, and Mycroft almost came in Sebastian’s mouth from hearing it. “I was thinking that since we tried option three last night, option four seemed like a good idea for breakfast…”

Mycroft’s mind pulled up Jim’s voice–in much the same tone–as he’d said, “Or I can hold you down and show you what I can do with a knife and when I’m done with you–if you’re still conscious–Sebastian will demonstrate how well I taught him to give a blow job.”

All Mycroft could manage was a low moan–Sebastian made a sound partway between a purr and a growl.

“Poor Tiger…” Jim’s voice was deadly and amused. “You just get to watch, and keep Mycroft… entertained…”

Sebastian promptly went back to treating Mycroft’s dick like it was a lollipop.

“Mycroft? I need you to pay attention…” _With THIS going on?_ But he tried to… “Green means go, everything is fine. Yellow means slow down, caution, or you’re getting close to my limits. Red means stop everything right now. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes…”

Jim held up a very sharp blade and smiled, “I wonder, Mycroft, whether you understand just how lucky you are that I’m a very different kind of sadist…” He laughed, “Or you could be unlucky.” Jim carefully wiped his chest and arms and stomach down with alcohol.

Mycroft remembered the smell and Jim drawing designs in traceries of blood on Sebastian’s chest–judging from Sebastian’s moan, and the interruption of his tongue work, so did Sebastian.

“This isn’t a punishment Mycroft, it’s a treat–I’m VERY good with a blade–so, you need to tell me you want it.”

Mycroft had seen people in interrogation frozen between fear and need, he’d seen other people uncertain of whether they wanted something or not, but before Jim it was never something he experienced and now it seemed to be a constant. He wanted nothing more than to run for his life–except that he wanted to say yes. He started having a bit of trouble breathing and everything got very… odd.

Jim put the blade down. “Sebie? Come up here and lie down, Tiger: I want to add to your stripes a bit.”

Sebastian left his attentions to Mycroft’s dick and crawled up until he was hanging over Mycroft, grinning down at him as he lowered himself down and whispered in his ear, “Frightened?” and rolled over to lie down next to Mycroft.

Jim wiped him down with alcohol, carefully. Jim had him stretch his arms over head, parallel to Mycroft’s.

“Can you hold still, Tiger?”

Sebastian thought for a moment, “Might be better if I had a tether, Sir.”

Jim moved him to slight angle and had him grab hold of the rope just above Mycroft’s hands. “Better?”

“Yes, Sir.”

 _He was just… holding the rope,_ Mycroft realized in shock. _When I cut Jim, he was in restraints… even if… I never let him struggle…_

Jim held the knife up, making sure Mycroft could see it as well. “Tiger? How are you?”

“Green, Sir.”

“Good boy,” Jim smiled, and then drew a trace of white, dotted with red, across his ribs; Sebastian moaned. Jim moved down and started licking and sucking… and then the blade etched a curving line across his abdomen while Jim licked… _How could he hold still?!_

Sebastian was moaning in earnest now, and Jim made a few more cuts before deciding he was moving too much and put the knife aside to concentrate on driving the man mad with his mouth.

Mycroft felt the prickles of jealousy, but to be frank the lust he was feeling watching this rather overwhelmed him. He was stretched out, open, exposed but for the comforting embrace of the ropes and… _God, I want that._

Sebastian came, arching up into Jim and then looking desperately down at Jim who crouched over him looking possessive… _Sebastian didn’t need a collar: it couldn’t be clearer that Jim owned him in every way._

Jim reached over and took a swig from a water bottle. “I have another scalpel, Mycroft… do you want it?”

“Yes…” It was little more than a whisper, but Jim smiled wickedly at him, “I expect words, Mycroft: How are you?”

He should stop this, this was mad, he was mad, this was utterly terrifying and he wanted nothing to do with it. He tried to steady his nerves. “Green.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> steak, and knives

Sherlock had been setting up to play for Jim, and trying to figure out how he was going to explain to John that he was apparently now one of Jim Moriarty’s guards, when he got a text–from Jim, upstairs.

MH turns out to need some playtime, Busy until lunch in all likelihood–JM

Sherlock stared at that for a while and eventually decided that he didn’t want to know, and would unquestionably find out eventually anyway. He sighed and called John.

“Sherlock? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, John. I haven’t seen anyone at all except over breakfast, and I have been told they will all be busy until lunch.”

“Oh. Uh... Good?”

“Not… entirely… I may have either accidentally given Jim an idea, or played into his plots–I’m not sure which.”

“Probably played into his plots–why?”

“Err… You said you didn’t like me going off alone with Jim on a trip?”

“Yes…” John sounded suspicious.

“Can you pack by Monday night? We leave Tuesday…”

Sherlock could almost HEAR John blinking confusedly. “I get to come along?”

“Yes?”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

Sherlock sighed, “You will be a guard and probably providing post-operative care.”

“WHAT?! What the hell are you letting him do to you?!”

Sherlock frowned, “Not me, John; really, you know better. JIM was injured, after all–by Mycroft: he’s seeing a plastic surgeon.”

A much quieter, “Oh. Well, yes, of course. Do you know which doctor?”

“Not in London, that’s all I know.” Sherlock sighed, “I suspect out of the country with a high probability.”

“Alright.”

“You’re taking this better than I expected.”

“At least I get to keep an eye on you,” John sighed.

“Yes, well…” Sherlock wasn’t certain how to say that might not be a good idea, or talk about the former prisoners, or anything. “In any event, I was looking up these wizarding houses, and I don’t think they’re very logical–”

Apparently John had very firm opinions on the entire series, and was shortly in a very exasperating–to John–and invigorating–to Sherlock–argument over the world building, the houses, and the merits of said houses as a psychological evaluation.

The argument, and resulting look up of various points of plot and detail from the assorted books, as well as comparisons to other books–Tolkien was a linguist as well, but apparently that was where the similarity ended–took enough time that John had to remind Sherlock it was going to be time to eat shortly. Sherlock ordered in lunch for all of them–steak, since that seemed to have gone over well for dinner–and was taking it in from the delivery person while in full rant about how it was utterly and completely ridiculous that all of the Weasleys were in Gryffindor when there was an amused cough behind him.

Sherlock turned to see a very relaxed looking Sebastian standing there in what appeared to be Mycroft’s pajama bottoms. He had an extremely elegantly scripted “Jim” in a very light cut–well treated, scabbed and healing, probably from their first day here–on his chest and what appeared to be a rough sketch of a tiger leaping across his abdomen in much more recent cuts.

“Steak?” Sebastian asked. “That was thoughtful.”

“It seemed to have some meaning to you and Jim, and since Mycroft knew the restaurant I assumed he would find it acceptable.” Sherlock couldn’t keep his eyes off the cuts.

Sebastian smiled in a pleased fashion, “Jim does good work with a knife.”

“Those certainly look less painful and less permanent than my brother’s work,” Sherlock blurted out before realizing that might have been a bad choice of words.

He suddenly heard John shouting “Sherlock” out of the phone clutched in his hand with the bags.

“Oh… Uh… I was still on the phone to John…”

Sebastian just grinned and held out his hand for the bags. “I’ll find out if Jim wants Mycroft down for lunch or lunch brought up.”

Sherlock reluctantly put the phone back to his ear and spoke quickly to forestall any further yelling. “Yes, well, it appears to be time to go get lunch.”

“Knife? Sebastian? What’s going on?”

“He has some very light decorative cuts, barely more than scratches, really… I suppose you’ll get to ask him about them when you get here. I’ll try to find out more about what you should pack; I will call you back later, but I may be busy with violin this afternoon.” He hung up quickly and went to find out about lunch.

*

“Green.”

Mycroft was trembling and Jim just smiled that smile that said, “I’m going to take you apart and you will enjoy every minute.”– Mycroft was terribly afraid that he would, too.

“Tiger? Back to work,” Jim said, and Sebastian rolled over and– _Ah! There was a rope bar between his legs, and Sebastian pinned that down when he was on top of me! THAT’s how my legs were immobilized_ –and then he stopped thinking very well as Sebastian became even more eagerly enthused with his mouth than he had been before.

Jim smiled down at him and held a shiny new knife up–turning it in front of him, making it glint and glitter–while Sebastian was doing indescribably wonderful things to him. Jim reached down and cut him.

It must have been a very sharp blade, Mycroft realized somewhere in some part of his mind that still noticed things, because it just felt like something cold, and then there was a strange warmth…

Somehow the orgasm felt connected to the strange sensations of cold and hot, and there were ribbons of sensation that couldn’t quite be called pain, but were definitely somewhere related to pleasure tracing over his chest and down…

He distantly heard Jim saying something, but it wasn’t important…

There were hands on him and noises, and his arms could move, and then he was curled into Jim, and Sebastian was curled around his back, and he was warm and safe… Jim kept talking to him; it was a nice sound, even if he couldn’t figure it out.

~

Sebastian had been working on getting Mycroft hard again after what must have been a truly shattering orgasm when Jim started asking what color he was. Trained reflex took over and Sebastian stopped working with his mouth long enough to say “Green”.

_But Jim had stopped cutting and was asking Mycroft for a color…_

_Oh, he’d gone past talking…_

_Yeah, the moans had gotten less coherent and softer, but… no, he wasn’t answering._

“Bring him down gently, Tiger,” Jim said softly and he put the blade away and started cleaning him up. He really hadn’t been cut that much, but Sebastian remembered his first time… He wondered if Jim had stopped when he couldn’t remember a color…

Jim untied him carefully and slowly, and Sebastian took over holding him so he wouldn’t crash.

Jim rolled Mycroft onto his side facing into Jim’s chest and nodded at Sebastian. Sebastian wrapped himself around Mycroft and Jim and held him tight; Mycroft sighed and curled further into Jim and fell asleep.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at Jim. Jim smirked faintly and mouthed, “Went under hard,” and then he petted Sebastian and told him to get a nap.

…

Sebastian woke up when Mycroft moved in his arms. Jim glanced at them both, and then started making soothing noises–somewhere in there, Sebastian got enough clues to carefully start restraining Mycroft more. Jim pressed up more closely and made those pleased “Mmmmm”ing noises, and damned if Mycroft didn’t start to settle.

“You didn’t answer when I asked you how you were doing, Mycroft, so I stopped,” Jim said in that same soothing tone that lulled Sebastian into near somnolence.

“It… didn’t hurt?” Mycroft sounded as amazed as Sebastian had felt that first time.

Jim just laughed, “Oh, it HURT, Mycroft–you just converted to endorphins fast enough that it felt good, too.” He looked up with a wicked look at Sebastian, “Of course, when you combine things it gets more interesting, like electricity and a blade, or flogging…”

Sebastian couldn’t help it: he moaned.

Jim petted Sebastian. “Go order us some steak?”

“Yes, sir.” He reluctantly extracted himself from the bed and pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms–he suspected they were Mycroft’s, but he didn’t much care–and went off looking for steak.

~

“What happened?” Mycroft looked lost, but not entirely unhappy.

“You stopped responding when I asked you for the color code,” Jim told him and started petting him. _Touch starved indeed: he leaned into every stroke_. “That means it’s no longer safe, so I stopped.”

“Why isn’t it safe?” _Trust Mycroft to still be analyzing, even now…_

“Because once you aren’t able to tell me if something isn’t right, you could get hurt–physically or mentally.”

“This is you, you’d see it,” Mycroft snorted.

Jim grinned, “I probably would, Mycroft, but,” and he couldn’t help but laugh at him as he quoted one of Mycroft’s own rants to his interrogators back in his face, “policies exist for a reason.”

Mycroft stared at him in outraged shock before he started snickering. By the time Sebastian came back they were both laughing hard enough to be unable to sit up.

Sebastian stood in the doorway for a bit before finally clearing his throat, “Sherlock already ordered lunch, so do you want to go down for it or have me bring it up?”

“He’s such a considerate fellow; what did he order?” _Sebastian was smirking? Why was he smirking?_

“Steak.” _Oh_ … Jim snickered.

“Hmm. Well, it would probably do Mycroft good to leave the bedroom,” Jim said thoughtfully. He waved at Sebastian and Sebie helped Mycroft up off the bed. Mycroft hissed a bit when his feet touched the floor, but the residual endorphins were probably blunting the worst of it.

“Anthea,” Mycroft started with a worried tone.

“Isn’t here. Sherlock very considerately sent her home, along with John.” Jim studied Mycroft a bit–he wouldn’t want Sherlock to see him, but you had to be careful of developing an actual phobic reaction: best to nip that in the bud. “Come along, we’ll eat down stairs.”

Mycroft’s eyes widened. “We ate here–”

“DON’T make me get the leash back out, Mycroft, not when you’ve been so good lately. I know you don’t want people to see you–I did explain about that with Bennison, after all–but if I need to remind you: he’s seen worse.” Mycroft deflated. “Now, very quick shower and pull on something. Don’t want the steak to get cold, do you?”


	14. Chapter 14

Sherlock heard them coming down before they came into view: _three sets of footsteps, one rather hesitant._ Sherlock was watching as they came in: _Jim was walking as he had before, but Mycroft was… limping?_ His eyes met Sherlock’s and _God, he was raw_ … Sherlock looked away immediately.

“I hadn’t wanted to set the table, since I didn’t know if you were coming down.” Sherlock kept his eyes on Jim.

“Could you?” Jim asked him politely. “I have people to get settled.”

Sherlock escaped the kitchen and took his time gathering the place settings.

~

Mycroft was trying to retain what dignity he could, but it appeared Jim was going to force him to kneel through lunch. The worst part was that he enjoyed it–in private.

“Mycroft, allow me to share a rather hard earned lesson,” Jim commented as Sebastian put a cushion down on each side of Jim’s chair. “It’s all an illusion.”

“Maya? The world is an illusion we have to escape?” Mycroft snorted. _I hadn’t expected mysticism out of him._

Jim looked at him and then at the cushion. “You can do this voluntarily or I can put you back in ropes.”

Mycroft rather hurriedly knelt down and Jim continued speaking.

“No, I mean that power, dominance–and, to a degree, humiliation–are all illusions.” Jim shrugged. “It’s all based on who sees you and whether it matters to them–or you.”

Sherlock came out and started setting the table. He glanced at Jim and then quickly at Mycroft. “How does one set the table for this, anyway?” Sherlock asked with a sarcastic drawl, as though he’d been asked to set formal table for a bowl of cereal or something.

Jim just smiled. “The simplest method is to put all three place settings side by side in front of me, so I can manage feeding them without knocking anything over or having to reach too far.”

Sherlock did so, and then took his own place setting and put it on his chair–and sat on the floor.

Mycroft stared across the floor at his brother, but Sherlock was simply looking down at his steak and ignoring them.

Jim laughed, “Oh, bravo! You were paying attention.”

“I do tend to,” Sherlock said calmly, as though sitting on the floor was the most normal place to be.

Jim ran his hands down both Sebastian and Mycroft’s necks. “I had a nice chat with Sherlock earlier about power dynamics; while that was about nudity and clothing, he seems to have applied the lesson rather well.”

Sebastian just shrugged and put his head down on Jim’s thigh. He looked entirely relaxed, and he was very attractive. Mycroft noted that if it weren’t for the way that his eyes continued to scan the room intermittently you would never think he was anything but decorative.

Jim began cutting steak into small bits and carrying on a conversation as though all of this was perfectly normal. “So… I must apologize for the delay, Sherlock.”

He shrugged, “It’s quite alright; I spent most of it doing research and talking with John.”

“That’s good. What did you arrange?”

“He’s going to pack and be ready to go by Monday night; he’s also apparently bringing those books.”

 _Plans had changed–they were taking John? Why?_ Mycroft took the bite of steak without thinking as Jim continued to discuss scheduling with Sherlock and Sebastian.

“Good, we’ll have to get a few things for him, but it shouldn’t be difficult.” Jim nodded, “Sebie? I suggest you move Toy to one of your own holdings if you plan on keeping him for any length of time.”

“Yes, sir. I have…” He finished chewing a bit of steak and smiled: it was dangerous and deadly and devastatingly attractive. “…some ideas.”

Jim shrugged, “Remember that he’s not really tamable, Tiger.”

Sebastian’s voice dropped into a deeper rumble that was about what Mycroft pictured a Tiger talking would sound like, “Oh, I’m not trying to tame him, Sir… We talked about some things we liked to do–when he was cozying up to me–I rather thought he should find out what it’s like to be on the other side of it.”

Jim reached down and ruffled Sebastian’s hair fondly.

Jim fed Mycroft another bite of steak and a small bit of potato– _Ambidextrous? Or as good as._ “Now, Mycroft, Sebastian is staying here in London during my trip. I had planned on a somewhat different schedule, but he’s going to go over the basics with Bennison, and you can start working on some redecorating for when I get back.”

Mycroft was trying to figure out what, if anything, to say about it when Sherlock simply stated, “The room I am currently using would probably be a good choice–if you mean what I think you do.”

~

“Oh?” Jim startled a bit.

“I assume you want something more in line with BDSM play and less of a murder room?”

Jim tilted his head and looked curiously at Sherlock, he let his fingers resume tracing down Sebastian and Mycroft’s necks. “It had occurred to me, yes.”

“It is a small guest room on this floor, so less likely for any sound to resonate through the floorboards. It isn’t near any of the other bedrooms, although it might be too close to Mycroft’s home office if that’s an issue. I assume it would be easier to re-do a bedroom rather than trying to re-do the downstairs.”

“Hmm,” Jim considered. _Normally, I would just re-do the downstairs, but… I have to be very careful to avoid connecting sex with sadism for Mycroft_. “You may have a point. Sebastian, try to keep the playroom on this floor if you can–upstairs, otherwise.”

Sebastian was a bit puzzled–playrooms and winches generally went with basements–but he nodded, “Yes, Sir.”

Mycroft was being extremely uncomfortable. _Ah, well, your baby brother discussing your sex life–especially your sex life under these conditions–must be difficult. Still, it was keeping him distracted enough to eat without too much fuss._

Jim waited until the main course was done, then casually told Sebastian to put their desserts in the refrigerator for later; he could feel the relief under his fingers from Mycroft.

Sherlock looked up to ask and changed topics, “Should I put mine away as well?”

“As you like. I need to talk to Sebastian for a few and then I can have that overdue concert.”

“Then I’ll have mine later.”

Jim let Mycroft get up– _He wasn’t scrambling to his feet anymore, he just got up: good_ –and led him into the sitting room. Sherlock got out his violin and started doing idle scales. Mycroft sat down in a chair and was trying to watch everyone without staring–it was all Jim could do not to laugh.

“Come on Sebastian, we have to talk.”

~

Sherlock didn’t even glance his way until he heard two sets of footsteps on the stairs, then he turned to look at Mycroft while he continued his warm-ups.

_Are you well?_

_I’ll live._ “Thank you.” Mycroft said it quietly. Sherlock nodded with his eyes.

“You do know that Sebastian–”

“Is my predecessor, yes.”

“We discussed… some things.”

“I did have that impression. I wouldn’t have” _hurt you_.

“Eventually” _you would._

“I don’t want to.”

“Which is how he holds you. You don’t want to and he can stop you.” _This is your house, there are a million ways to call for help or destroy him here._

 _True_. “You aren’t afraid of him?”

“Not anymore. He has… rules. Stay within those and you’re safe.” Sherlock began playing a melody he hadn’t played for Mycroft since he was a child.

“Myc,” he barely breathed, it was more lip reading than anything, “he said he was working to keep your sadism and sex from associating in your mind, the way they were for Sebastian.”

Sherlock could see when the reasoning behind the basement room never being the playroom hit. “Ah, I see,” he nodded slowly. _No, it could never be there._

~

Sebastian followed Jim down the stairs.

“Toy is a bit of a mess, but we weren’t keeping him, so…”

“Perfectly alright, Tiger.” Jim stopped just outside the door to the cell. “I’m trusting you with Mycroft, Sebie… I’ll go over the specifics after he goes to work tomorrow but… this is important.”

“I understand, sir.” _I appreciate the chance to redeem myself: I won’t mess it up._

They went in.

Much to Sebastian’s surprise, McReady–Toy–had regained consciousness. He didn’t try to talk immediately, but then the bruises on his throat were developing spectacularly.

Jim mostly stood there contemplating him. “Tiger?”

“Yes, sir?”

“What pissed you off THAT badly?” He waved at him.

“Err… He tried to buy me away from you: told me they could make a ‘better offer’ than whatever you were paying me.”

Jim collapsed into the chair laughing; eventually, he looked up at him. “Really?” he asked, voice going soft.

Sebastian grinned down at him, “Yeah, really.”

“Doesn’t know you very well, does he?”

“Apparently not.”

“We… can… whole new start… new identity… he’s weaker…” Toy rasped.

Jim just stared at him. “Tiger… just how hard did you HIT him?”

“That’s the thing: he was talking like that once I was alone with him. Made a big deal of how you were,” Sebastian couldn’t help but grin, “small and helpless and I could hurt you.”

Jim almost fell off the chair into Sebastian, cackling. Toy looked utterly confused at them. After a while Jim wiped his eyes and looked up at Sebastian. He held both arms up and Sebastian picked him up. Jim wrapped his legs around him and Sebastian backed up until he could brace himself on the furniture.

“Toy?” Jim laughed, “Watch.” Jim grabbed Sebastian by the hair and kissed him like he was being eaten alive. Sebastian moaned. Jim began biting his way down his jaw and neck, and Sebastian took one arm away from holding Jim to help brace himself as his legs went weak.

“Put me down, Tiger,” Jim said, and Sebastian put him down like he was made of spun glass.

Jim pulled the tray over, complete with sterile blades and other things, and stepped back, looking at Sebastian.

Jim held out his hand and Sebastian handed him one of the scalpels.

“Stay,” murmured Jim, and Sebastian’s world focused down to a pair of dark eyes… and there was warmth as Jim drew the blade along his skin.

 _Somewhere, Toy was trying to say things, maybe to yell, but it didn’t matter._ Jim touched his shoulder and he went to his knees. _He was where he belonged, and Jim was petting him._

Eventually, Jim tugged on his hair and brought his head up. “I want to go listen to music, Tiger. Stretch your claws a bit and then come up.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Jim left and Sebastian closed the door. He felt his predatory nature stretch and he smiled: _This would be great._

Toy forced words out past his bruised throat. “Why? You could kill him, you could HURT him! You could run his empire and keep him on a fucking leash!”

Sebastian looked down at him and didn’t even try to hide the desire to hurt him and break him. “You know, Toy, the real reason no one wants to keep you is that you aren’t smart enough to realize that the most dangerous place in the world to be?

“Is holding his leash…”

~

Jim came up with a warm, contented feeling which was only solidified by seeing Sherlock playing something and his brother sitting quietly with a nostalgic look: not trying to hide anything, just honestly fond and sad.

Jim sat down on the sofa and nodded at Sherlock.

He’d missed this.

 _Passion, sadness, joy:_ the emotion pouring out of Sherlock’s fingers that he never could express any other way. _Hope, new beginnings, tentative reconnection, lost opportunities…_

After a long time, Mycroft folded himself to the ground next to Jim and Jim started running his fingers through his hair and down his neck. _Redemption, sadness, belonging…_

Jim felt the residual tremors in his fingers still, and the tension in his body eased.

After a long time, Sebastian came up and sprawled at Jim’s feet, laying his head on his shoes and drifting off–a very tame Tiger.

Jim didn’t smile–his smiles were usually for effect–but the body?

The body never lies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end of this arc, but not the end of the story, although you could stop here and be content i think.  
> will pick up with the trip, and the people left behind


End file.
